Fishermen of Caleta


Here, in old Caleta
On the ocean’s edge,
We watch the fishermen,
Faces leathery and sunburnt,
Set out to sea
In their weatherbeaten boats.

Like his ancestors
A thousand years before
Carlos risks his life every day 
Hoping for a catch
To bring to shore.

He knows the dangers:
The sudden storm
That took his uncle;
A broken net
That seized his cousin’s leg
Pulling him under;
A capsized boat
That spilled his neighbors into the sea.

Despite the death that rides 
These foaming hydra waves
Because the sea is in him
Carlos must be in the sea.
The sea may be his death
But it surely is his life.




​
La Caleta


It’s all here in Tenerife
In the churning sea at La Caleta,
Ancient fishing village
That has seen it all, 
My joy and my grief.

Here at the ocean’s edge
Gentle waves remind me
Of my daughter’s little hands 
Seeking her mouth
The sparkling water reflects her laughing eyes
I feel the joy she bought to me.

Here at the ocean’s edge
The tide going out reminds me
How no air could come in
When she choked to death
My grief a tidal flow.

Here at the ocean’s edge
The water’s rhythms remind me
How quickly my son learned to walk and talk
The sound of surf is his ready laugh
I feel the joy he brought to me. 

Here at the ocean’s edge
Surf crashing on rocks reminds me
Of the sound of gunshot
Crashing into his brain
My grief a tidal flow.

It’s all here in Tenerife
In the churning sea at La Caleta
Ancient fishing village
That has seen it all 
My joy and my grief.