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)

2 thoughts on “April 5, 2020 Poem “Ecola”

  1. The wonderful coincidence around photos is that I didn’t know how to illustrate this poem. I felt so happy to find one I could share from Pixabay (and send thanks and “a cup of coffee”/$5 US to the photographer. And then, once I had done that, the photo I took on the very trip I reference in the poem, when I was pregnant with Julia, surfaced in an old gratitude journal! These lovely moments are part of the fun within the pressure of making a new poem each day.

  2. Such a tender poem, Leslie. I particularly like the way you used fog.
    The photos are such a visual pleasure and complement to the poem too.
    Beth

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