This place of shifting skies
where draggers push
beyond the cresting waves
through early morning fog
to the outer banks
in hopes of a good week’s haul

Where a father strapped
his drowned son’s body to the weirs
while he swam to shore for help

Where too many fishermen —
brothers and sons, are lost forever
betrayed by the seas of their youth

This place of unforgiving storms
where the tide pulls in
and holds you fast
’till all those empty promises
get you to hoist up anchor
grab the oars and pull
hard against the waters

You row beyond the Point
look back and hear the echoes of
Jimmy Peak shouting strawberries,
fresh strawberries from his pickup
as he rolls along Front Street
Scarry Jack’s old fire truck bell
calling out fresh cod, flounder

Kids squeals and laughter
cadence of Portuguese
woven through a chorus
of memories, silhouettes
in the mind’s horizon

It is this place to which
you forever return
to forget
and to remember