142 / 143 Islesboro ferry
swimming into steaming
gauze of sea smoke,
aiming for dawn, a ragged
tree line burning
like embers, Isleboro, three
miles off shore.
Deer dashes across Route One, indigo
dawn, delicate hooves pierce crevices
on ice-clotted shore, quick shiver slip into
Penobscot Bay, arched neck like dancer
swimming into steaming gauze of sea smoke,
aiming for dawn, a ragged tree line burning
like embers, Isleboro, three miles off shore.
Mid-bay the state island ferry rides low, five
cement trucks, loaded and turning, another
summer house foundation. Coffee cups gush
steam like hand-held geysers, fogged pick
ups jammed with crew ready to rake down
the pour. Black labs like galloping seals jolt
a rusted Toyota wagon. Up on passenger
deck, little boy in Superman tee talks non-
stop to mom’s ruddy faced new man.
On the bridge they spot something strange
and big. A mess of lobster traps? No. A
submerged log? No. It’s moving.
Deer.
Churning engine is thrown into reverse
as wash of fur disappears under the bow,
deck shuddering. Ferry rocks, drifting on
torrent of cross currents, waiting. One
bundled traveler watches above decks,
face wrapped in wool, scanning steel
borders. A shout on the bridge. Icy surge
washes deer off to port, floundering, then
circling, neck up, in a storm of slate-gray
spirals, searching for a horizon. Engines jolt
into gear. Last they saw from the bridge,
deer was heading out toward Warren Island.
Bay Cr os s i ng – Janua r y
1...,126-127,128-129,130-131,132-133,134-135,136-137,138-139,140-141,142-143,144-145 148-149,150-151,152-153,154-155,156-157,158-159,160-161,162-163,164-165,166-167,...