Nearly twenty years earlier we’d been here as visitors
from the east with our three daughters—one of whom,
on her way to LA to become an actor in a touring group.
Now, on a November day, with our oldest granddaughter
my wife and I are here again. Nothing seems to have
changed—gray water still slaps against boardwalk pilings
without any hostile intention; surfers in dark wetsuits
still wait for a wave to ride toward shore and glory.
A fine breeze of mist still lays against our skin and nylon
windbreakers. Yet, people will still wander out the long
boardwalk to watch the ocean wash quietly toward
the beach—its amber sand still glassy from the last coating
of sea water. Here, leaning over the salt-weathered railings,
we let our thoughts drift upon the surface of the itinerant
waters below. In these interludes one could almost believe
that the concerns we bring with us somehow remain
back onshore—left behind to fade away in some ongoing
work of oblivion. Yet . . . something makes me look back in
land’s direction. A brown pelican stands on the rail, not more
than six feet from me. Pelicans can live up to forty years;
I’m amused to imagine he recognizes me from years ago
and came to say hello. Oh pelican friend, what have you seen
come and go with this ocean’s currents? What human dreams
and desires have you seen wash out with time, surf, and tide?
Did any of mine come back after circling the earth? Alright,
I confess to you, dear bird, I may have passed these years
in a kind of subtle denial—a thing so elusive that it takes
a landed pelican to remind me: I’ve only taken temporary
departures from loneliness and afflictions; the world’s a
lonely place. Yet, these have shown me I wouldn’t trade
the sorrows I’ve known—for all the fish in this ocean.
Oh bird of the waters, I’m not sure this is something you
would understand. Even so, the look in your eye tells me
you might try.
T.P. Bird
T.P. Bird has published in a number of journals and is the author of a chapbook, as well as four full collections, the latest from Golden Antelope Press, “A Loose Rendering.” In addition, a full collection is due sometime in 2025 from Wipf and Stock—“Upstate Trilogy.” Bird lives with his wife, Sally, in Lexington, KY.