Rock Hall, January
Beneath the murky water and beneath
the clay that clings to danforth and to plow,
the treasure of the bay, the Chesapeake
blue-pointed crab, in winter must allow
her body to be buried. Watermen
repaint their boats with thickly callused hands
and mend torn lines and traps while she-crabs tend
to tiny eggs. Propped up on rusty stands
lean flat-hulled skiffs with daughters' names and wives'
in careful lettering across the stern.
This winter work is penance and a tithe
the watermen endure. Like crabs, they've learned
to seek their safety from the very bay
whose slate grey waters flow within their veins.