Gift of the Sea

We paddled for miles
to this small island
and were walking the tidewrack
to shake out our legs.

We came upon a pale carcass, something fishy,
its skeleton pulled free of the skin,
turning it inside out,
attached only at the base of the spine,
and mangled beyond recognition.
It stank and flies rose off it.
I stepped back, repulsed,
and moved away, already done with it.

But you knelt for a better look,
“It’s a baby seal, I think.”
Drawn by your interest
I turned back toward the thing
but kept my distance
“What do you think killed it? See, its skull is crushed.”
To my profound shock,
you took hold of it
with your hands.
You reached right into that
gelatinous sack of pale sken
and gently drew it right side out,
the spine sliding slowly into place inside.

There lay a baby seal
cradled on its bed of seaweed.
Delicately you spread its feet
with their fine webbing and tiny claws.
The marvelous perfection
of this mermaid creature,
designed wholly for water
yet breathing air,
its heart pumped warm and red
to swim the life breath
of these cold Maine waters,
finally to fetch up
on these island rocks,
battered and broken.

Grateful for this gift
I would have missed entirely,
I reached out timid fingertips
to stroke the glossy coat
and touch the sturdy flipper feet.
“Rest in peace, little one.”

by Jay Rancourt