Melissa Varnavas shares this wonderful poem about rowing out to an island for a picnic one summer day that suddenly becomes stormy.

The rowing poem

It started to rain. Wind sent the empty

sandwich bags sailing.

…

I do not remember

if they fluttered off like seagulls

…

or if a sudden gust filled the plastic, fat

like some tuna-loving cat

…

that neglected to look before it danced over

the side of the rocking canoe, touched the waves.

…

Disappeared. It started to

rain. The wind picked up. The tide changed.

…

Remember tying up at some mooring to eat lunch?

It had been such a nice day. Remember the worn out life

…

jackets we used as seat cushions? I turned to face

you, dangled my feet over the sides, tipped my toes into the rocking

…

water. We swayed with waves from passing boats, the smell

of suntan lotion, the day, and the wind, and the clouds, baby

…

oil, diesel, and rain, and the islands. I have danced in the rain

with you like a wet cat so many times, I have forgotten.

…

That day we took our positions again, stern and aft, perched

on white fiberglass. You always steered. I did not know how.

…

We put the boat in at Sandy Point. Picked up our paddles,

stashed the cooler, used the life jackets as seat cushions.

…

Was it me, the weak one, struggling against

the current, pining for any opportunity to give up?

…

I’m sure it was me. I have no courage for such things.

It thundered and rained, after the tide changed

…

and after the wind picked up, and we were nearly home.

I so wanted to stop. Stash the canoe on the beach and walk

…

back to the truck. or find a phone and call

for help. I have no courage but you pushed.

Said, come on. It was raining and I heard the thunder,

distant. There was the canoe and you and me, some unexpected

…

weather. A cooler with Coronas, Zimas, some Pepsis, tuna sandwiches. The tide

was with us on the way out. Misery Islands out there,

…

on our right. The shore on our left—Quincy, Dane, Lynch, West—

a short swim away. The sun was good and the sea smelled like the sea,

…

smelled like the wind and the rain and the sun and the beer

and the sandwiches. I think we tied to someone’s mooring. I think I

…

turned to face you, dangled my feet over the sides, tipped

my toes into the water, until the wind picked up and the tide

…

changed. We rowed and rowed and got

a fit of the giggles at the thought

…

of getting nowhere. It started to rain. Nothing

happened. That’s not to be expected. We are good

…

and strong and fine so many years from then, weathered,

smelling like sun and sweat and salt and sea, rowing.

…

Mid-laugh the tide took us back

to where we were. And maybe that’s the crux of it. It grew

…

dark. I remember. The tide

changed.