I could tell they were father and son,
the air between them, slack as though
they hardly noticed one another.
The father sanded the gunwales,
the boy coiled the lines.
And I admired them there, each to his task
in the quiet of the long familiar.
The sawdust coated the father's arms
like dusk coats grass in a field.
The boy worked next on the oarlocks
polishing the brass until it gleamed
as though he could harness the sun.
Who cares what they were thinking,
lucky in their lives
that the spin of the genetic wheel
slowed twice to a stop
and landed each of them here.
About this poem
"I saw them only for a moment, the father and son mentioned in this poem. There was a strong feeling of contentment and concentration in the air as we passed them on our kayak. I was very drawn to it and them and wanted to explore the attraction I felt."
About Sally Bliumis-Dunn
Sally Bliumis-Dunn is the author of "Second Skin" (Wind Publications, 2009). She teaches at Manhattanville College and lives in Armonk, N.Y.
The Academy of American Poets is a nonprofit, mission-driven organization, whose aim is to make poetry available to a wider audience. Email The Academy at poem-a-day[at]poets.org.
(c) 2015 Sally Bliumis-Dunn. Originally published by the Academy of American Poets, www.poets.org. Distributed by King Features Syndicate