Dog Bar Breakwater

Dog Bar Breakwater

 

It’s quite a simple structure, given its task:

blocks of granite, each one thirteen tons, piled neatly

and securely on and next to the other.

 

So far it has survived more than one hundred

years of tides, winds, waves, heat of summer and the

numbing cold of winter.

 

Like a mother’s guarding arm, it protects our boats

from the dangerous surf, deflects the fury

of the sometimes angry sea; provides a measure

of calm to our harbor and is home to the beacon

and signal that guide us safely to our berths.

 

On fine days, it is a place of walks, picnics,

picture taking, artists painting, people fishing,

quiet talks and, each September, we watch schooners

head out for their annual race into the past.

 

On stormy  days, if one dares go out to see,

we witness giant sea upon sea doing their best

to crest over the topmost blocks as if to challenge

the very notion that we, by force of will,

can make any harbor safe.

 

It is a noble effort that makes me wonder:

we have built the Dog Bar breakwater, but

can we, on our stormy days, prevent ourselves

from dashing recklessly upon  hidden bars

by careful placement of blocks of wisdom,

and, on the good days, walk along the tops amid

waves of joy and gratitude?

 

Marty Luster