April 5, 2020 Poem “Ecola”

Cannon Beach, Oregon, January 1999 (Photo: Leslie Schultz)
 

Ecola
     for our daughter, on the other coast
 
 
Where is the entry point
into this poem?
The trail head is closed
for the foreseeable
which seems not that far, now,
our human future
shrouded in fog.
 
Fog remains at home, here,
on this point where land
meets sea, where a crescent
of beach curves. Just north,
Tillamook lighthouse still
battens to its rock,
abandoned columbarium;
 
just south, Haystack Rock
looms picturesque, mute.
I recall our last visit,
four months pregnant with you.
We rented a damp cabin
at Cannon Beach, dim
and stinking of old smoke.
 
That night, the roar of the surf
called us out. We walked
into the heavy fog, lights
of heaven concealed, even
the lights of the town, rocks,
docks, Sitka spruce all shrouded.
 
Delicate as deer, we went,
step by step, onto the wet sand,
its shining all we could see
except each other. The tide
was low but we knew
it would turn, that morning
would come. That fog would burn.
 
 
Leslie Schultz
Minnesota North Shore, July 2017 (Photo: Leslie Schultz)
Ecola State Park, Oregon from Lookout Point (Photo: Hellmann, courtesy of Pixabay)

April 29, 2017 Poem: “Narrow Steps”

Narrow Steps

Lately, I fear being pulled under.
And, so, ladders appear everywhere:
across the street, next door, near
my porch. Even here,

inside a monumental marble-walled
museum, a microcosm
of skill and beauty culled from
the whole blue marbled globe

we inhabit. And so, I am
asking for the courage to see
how to rise above, to find one step
up, one step back into hope.

Leslie Schultz

This is the penultimate day of NaPoWriMo– hope to see you tomorrow for the final poem in this year’s series.

LESLIE

Check out other participants at the NaPoWriMo Challenge 2017 home site!