On Father’s Day weekend I think of my dad. He died long ago now. I think of him when I’m on a boat, near an ocean, and when I’m writing. Writing runs in the family. Following is a poem Dad wrote about Drayton Harbor, the bay by our hometown. Below that is a poem I wrote about Drayton Harbor. Great minds think alike!
Drayton Harbor (By Jim Eames) Spring tides haul back wide Eelgrass sticks with herring row First gulls hatch down chicks Clam diggers shovel squirts Baked mud warms the evening flood Milk-oysters sport new Beached eelgrass ranks fecund Swimmers mince barnacled feet The tide floods green and rich Cutthroats flash at candlefish Salmon peak summer fat Sein boats bulldoze blunt waves home The southeaster lashes chop Water washes shoreward down Seabirds flock in rest Muffled dragger plod with lights The mud lies brown and dank Mother-mud that’s borne us all * Drayton Harbor at Low Tide (By Michelle Eames) Ocean flows out— The bay exhales Dakota creek wanders through naked tide flats. Sea stars and oysters hang tight To a few glacier-dropped boulders. Tide flats show scars Of old sawmill pilings, Rusty chains, fish nets and floats: History. Sand and clay merge Into a dark sucking goo, Holes gurgle as I walk past, Bubbling up from anemones, Ghost shrimps, tube worms, clams. It’s alive, scent of salt and decay. Mud squishes up like tar Claiming my oldest shoes, I feel a layer of shells Under the surface. Sea gulls and sandpipers Run into the distance— The secret to walking on tide flats Is to always keep moving. *
Michelle Eames 