Diving in the Dark
August 24, 2016 |
| Photo courtesy sailormn34 |
Introduction by Ted Kooser: I’ve lived all my life on
the plains, where no body of water is more than a few feet deep, and even at
that shallow depth I’m afraid of it. Here Sam Green, who lives on an island
north of Seattle, takes us down into some really deep, dark water.
Night Dive
Down here, no light but what we carry with us.
Everywhere we point our hands we scrawl
color: bulging eyes, spines, teeth or clinging tentacles.
At negative buoyancy, when heavy hands
seem to grasp & pull us down, we let them,
we don’t inflate our vests, but let the scrubbed cheeks
of rocks slide past in amniotic calm.
At sixty feet we douse our lights, cemented
by the weight of the dark, of water, the grip
of the sea’s absolute silence. Our groping
hands brush the open mouths of anemones,
which shower us in particles of phosphor
radiant as halos. As in meditation,
or in deepest prayer,
there is no knowing what we will see.
2 comments
Such interesting imagery, leading to reflection and pondering...I live near the ocean but have never gone down too deep...
ReplyDeleteRita--I loved the imagery in this poem, also. I'm not a great swimmer and am slightly claustrophobic, so scuba diving is not something I have any desire to try. I'll have to content myself with watching from above.
ReplyDelete