Gulf Harvest

Into the ink of the Gulf
my father guides the rudder.
He navigates shallow waters
guiding us through hungry reefs
only inches above the ocean floor.

Along the shore line
Sand dunes and hermit crabs
taste the salt...high tide.
The translucent moon hangs low
until it disappears...vaporized.

Our net goes under the surface
digging into the sea.
And we subtract our sustenance
from hunting grounds below us
a moment at a time.

And the salt water sings in our veins.
and the salt water sings in our veins.

The winds that blasted the coast line
Stir and churn the shrimp beds.
The waves that tear away the continent
now lick at the wounded sand,
A fickle lover caressing her mate

The breakers we ride in a rhythm
that rocks us deceptively sweet.
The horizon dips and sways
with each tilt of the bow.
And we crawl across the water...

Until the weight of a million shrimp
close up in our net
and four sun burned arms
pull the feast on board
one pound at a time.

And the salt water sings in our veins.
And the salt water sings in our veins.
And the salt water sings.

 "Gulf View" Photograph by Jewel Martin