I found myself on a folding metal chair
at an environmental film festival
with a few dozen people
in an echoing junior high gymnasium
wind and rain slashing the high windows

on the screen a biologist
a woman with the bravery
stamina and love it takes
to look at things as they are
spreads the belly feathers of a dead albatross
stretches its intestines to reveal
the red bottlecap that killed it
in a nest of bones

the movie ends soon after, credits scroll
people get up, pull on their coats,
avoid looking at each other

once outside, grateful for the cold air
I walk down the hill toward Main Street

this is an old gold-mining town
second story iron shutters and ghosts
to be reckoned with as this town makes do
with aging back-to-the-landers
environmental and recreational tourists
artists organic farmers real estate people retirees
all facing longer fire seasons every year

up the street a black oak in the mist
looks like a silent figure about to depart
people fill the sidewalks, cross the street
check film catalogues and venue maps
on their way to the next film

the rain has stopped, pieces of sky
lie shattered in puddles
cars pass over the tacky street
as if someone were slowly tearing pages
out of the newspaper
I get a black tea at the cafe
sweep raindrops off an outside bench
squeeze the lid off
a flat scarf of steam twists and disappears
into the cold air, the tea tastes clean and bitter
and I'm glad for it
after that movie

I'm thankful for those who made the film
for its sobering effect
and the softness it caused in me
what it made me remember again
after so many years

we slept in the second hold
deep amidship
racks of four or five fold-down hammocks
hundreds of them, taut canvas
laced to steal frames hinged to a pole
you could sling your arm around
to keep from rolling off
as the giant ship rocked like a toy
in the Pacific

one night the storm was so insistent
I got up, the other soldiers sleeping 
throughout the bay breathing 
as if part of the rocking ship
made my way over the riveted floor
through the angled latrine toward the fantail 
all the heads gleaming silent and bizarre
and out the steel door

I emerged into sweet ocean air
the sea rose up like a mountain
night blue, galaxies of luminous foam
loosening on the wave
the air so alive I felt pulled through my own skin

albatross circled without a wingbeat
softly threading every nuance of air
days from land, prehistorically patient
for the galley scraps we toss overboard
I stood there watching them silently sweep
up and out of sight, as if they were shadows
lifted off the surface of the water
to circle back into view and pass through me
so at home on their wings