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Orientation
by J. Kates

I know a scoter from a coot,
a common eider from a king.
I know what song the mute swan sings
(I'll bet you know it isn't mute).
I know a harrier on the wing
and followed one one afternoon

in mid-October through the mud
and bitter milkweed of the moor
until I lost it in the air
and lost myself on lower ground
while rainclouds gathered overhead
around an early rising moon.

I knew I wasn't far from home.
I knew I wasn't really lost.
Less than a mile from the coast
(I didn't know it at the time)
the county road is paved and posted
and when the wind is blowing west

the rain will hold off for a while.
Somewhere to the east you waited —
you didn't know I would be late.
I climbed up on a little hill
to try to get my bearings straight,
then started off the way I guessed.

I would have liked you at my side.
You know how to interpret clues
and find the things I always lose
or unintentionally hide.
You know the lore I could have used
if looking did me any good.

Three kinds of heather, two of pine,
a dogfish and a basking shark,
a fritillary and a monarch
catch all the light the sun can shine
but fade to darkness in the dark.
I stumbled home. I knew I could.

 

(Previously published in The Massachusetts Review)