i still look over the ocean
and i feel the pull,
the freedom of the water
that draws me in each time.
i remember the good days,
when salty air flooded the
senses and dried the hands,
when i tended for the best man.
always sober, never late,
and his wisdom would
speak to me over quiet hours
as we fished for the greatest catch.
he taught me well a tender's
soul job and when
times were rough i knew
the equipment of proper safety.
the bond that was shared,
between tender and diver,
was never broken and to this
day the loyalty still holds true.
much weight is carried with
the tender, not just the
weight of the rope but there
is still a burden more, and that's life.
his life and full trust was put
into my young, soft hands,
now calloused with work and
the knowledge of a fisher's way.
when he'd dive beneath the
surface of the water
i held the heavy lifeline between
him and me, the many feet of rope.
i'd sit against the edge of the
boat deck with the sun on my back,
and wet rope tangled about me,
just waiting for the tug.
and after a hard day's work,
we'd separate to our homes;
he to his boat, "The Sword", and
i to my uncle's apartment on the beach.
there i washed and mended
my cuts and rope burns
and then i'd fall into sleep, for
tomorrow a long day of tending lay ahead.