The Hamptons

The Nellfred Knickman Parade Of Waves


 


Nellfred Knickman used to surf
All dignity and gumption
But then she broke her toe
                    blew out her engine
                    had two babies
Before another winter
Froze her face again
After a snowstorm
She walked down the cliff
To Poker Point
Where the wind swept offshore
And the teeny eyes beside her
Gaped
          silent
From the shiny horizon
Between the whitecaps
And the muffling amazement
She promised herself that as these swells
Marched into the cove
She would again find the self possession
To don a modern wetsuit
And drop into an invigorating wall
        glide within a tube
        pop off some rainbow spray
        using the lip as an accelerating friend
The winter gales haunted her devoted motherhood
But inevitably the spring came
She waited until May
The first steps into the water were painful
No boots on her white appendages
No gloves on her detergent dried hands
Noontime warmth
Chilly ocean
A southern low
                    had created peaks
                          peeling
                               left and right
                          consistently
                                one after the next
The initial tube was dry
The following wave snuffed her
  as she tried to climb
              out of its collapsing oven
Her adrenals fired
Her mind craved more nuptual nascence
She studied the colors of the hillside
                   the asymmetry of the rocks
                                    and the trees
            gaining a line up
Others on the beach
          Inspired by her stoic style
                  neither flaring nor flailing
Wave after wave
Celebrated her re-entry
Into the world of salty love
Her babysitter digging holes in the sand
With her children
Stoked surfers paddling round
The mossy boulders
On the inside
Watching her crank a turn
Like a champion
Lines of waves
Rising behind her
Monuments to her soul
That they would share
When Nellfred hooted and flew
Over the back of a swell
Her parade of waves
Never ceasing
On this glorious May mining
Of a precious surf rebirth
 
                                      (C)  1997   Claude Mayers


About Claude: Poet, surfer, political observer, world traveller, health professional, music aficionado-claudemayersny@yahoo.com

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September 23rd, 2011 Posted by | Claude Mayers | no comments

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