The Watermen Will Rise Again

Tangier Island, Chesapeake Bay

To the quiet sound of a riptide in their gardens,
under starlight, the watermen unfurl. Boots sloshing
down to the docks, morning outboard motors rev,
making wake before the city rises.

Tracking buoy to buoy, across the long fetch,
white-licked waves crack against the skiff sides.
Pulling pots of pearl blue from the depths of fresh clay,
crabs bodies wobbling with ocean rhythm.

Their rolling lawns cling with each brush of a wave,
inevitable drag of comber taking what it owns.
Watermen come home, to flooded front steps,
doing their best not to warp from the moisture.

Barring whitecaps at the door, the watermen will wake again,
wading through the sidewalk to their boats and gear.
Allowing the tide to cast them off until evening,
returning to an island, going away from here.