Vox Populi
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Robert Cording: Manatees
~~
Manatees
In record cold weather, manatees
gathered in an inlet near a power plant
that warmed the nearby water.
We took our children to see them
as if we were visiting old friends
we hadn’t seen in a while—
which was true in a way,
the manatees we’d watched for years
dwindling as boat traffic increased
and algae blooms from carbon emissions
killed off the seagrass they fed on.
But there they were, shadows
when there was cloud cover
but bodied when the sun returned,
sea cows that looked
like they were sleeping
when they rolled over in their bed
of water. Tranquil, patient,
they brushed against each other
until, soon enough, they ambled
with their mermaid tails toward the dock
where our three boys knelt, and waited
for that close-up moment
when three manatees, unchanged
for forty-five million years,
became full-size in their eyes—
like giant, nine-feet long potatoes
rolling in the heated outlet water
of the electric plant to stay alive.
Just kids, they couldn’t help
but cry when they saw the whip-like,
striated scars from propellers
that lined the manatees’ backs.
~~
Burrowing Owls
Just a square of roped-off sandy dirt
and a wooden perch like a cross
residing on an empty lot worth millions
among Marco Island’s sunny houses—
where the owls squatted, their burrow
like a prairie dog’s. Two owls no more
than seven inches high, and their two owlets
even smaller, sat together, as if posing
for a family portrait, a grouping that would’ve
turned any hardened realtor into a do-gooder.
Disinterested, erect, a little formal perhaps,
the owls were motionless except for their heads,
which swiveled as we circled the rope barrier.
They were, to our surprise and delight, protected—
as if just this once, everyone had recognized
how much less valuable their lives would be
without these owls. This harborside lot
with an active nest site was unsellable
until the owls decided the land no longer
held any value to them. Homeowners
here could even arrange for burrows to be
pre-dug in their landscaped lawns
in preparation for the hoped-for arrival
of these small, unlikely new residents.
~~~~
Copyright 2025 Robert Cording
Robert Cording’s many poetry collections include In the Unwalled City and Finding the World’s Fullness, both published by Slant Books.
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I love the responses to the natural world in everyone’s comments.
As the Psalmist once said, The heavens and earth declare God’s glory. It’s that “declare” that matters–the self-evident beauty of the given world.
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What a wise response, Bob. Thank you.
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I have a giant lump in my throat. Since childhood I regarded all living things as sacred. That has cost me quite a few tears over the years.
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You are a good person, Rose Mary. You have strong feelings for others.
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I am so moved by this description of the homely manatees, especially the children’s sorrow for their man-made scars. And the owls, how much less valuable our lives would be without them, how memorably the poet has captured them. Thank you for these two beauties.
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Thanks, Jan. I feel moved by the poem as well.
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I just stumbled up to this quote by Tomas Transtromer:
We are the place/ where creation is working itself out.
I’d add: that these two poems by Robert Cording are prime examples of places where creation is working itself out.
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Yes, they are!
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I was really moved by your response to my poems, Jim. Thank you,
Bob
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Both of these poems remind me of cherished moments. In the North Georgia subdivision community in which I live there are, thankfully, areas that are too low or hilly for construction allowing huge oaks and other trees and growth to survive. A few years ago while walking my Penny we came across a huge two foot great horned owl sitting atop a dead possum a few feet off the street by a small wet weather stream. We all froze for a moment. The owl stared at us as we stared at him; his large yellow eyes showed no fear, perhaps, just a smirk as if to say “you finally saw me!” I glanced at Penny, also staring in wonder, and when I looked back at the owl, he was gone; never seen again by me, yet. Yes, they are silent in flight! No doubt he had seen me before walking the neighborhood and perhaps he still does on occasion.
Many years ago, my wife and I took the Crystal River Manatee tour in Florida and were able to enter the cold water in wet suits. Everyone was closely monitored; not allowed to swim away from the boat to pursue a manatee. One came to us, allowing a hand touch, a greeting and then slowly swam away. A simple touch can be so cherished.
Thanks for these.
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Powerful recollections, Leo. Thanks for warming an ice-stormy morning.
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Thank you, Leo. You have a great capacity for wonder.
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I had the chance to swim with manatees in Florida this past November, and naturally wrote a poem about it. They are such gentle, steady beings. We snaked around in the river, and I could hear them munch under water. An experience I’ll never forget. This poem describes them well. They invite awe.
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Yes, they do invite awe. Thank you.
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One of the things I love about our poems right now is that they often revel in and reveal facets of reality I never knew before. Both these poems do that, and they do so fully AS poems, depicting in image and metaphor the animals they present to us as worth saving, MORE than worth saving. The manatees like potatoes, the children crying over the propellor scars visible on their skins–sea cows, mermaid-tailed. The burrowing owls described so perfectly, bodies still as their heads turns. Oh, these poems are wonders, like the creatures they describe.
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Mary,
You say so well the things on my mind. Robert Cording’s poems are gems of craft, story, and ecological wonder. Keepers of hope.
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One of my favorite poets, writing about beloved things of my world. What better thing could happen this day?
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Thanks, Sean.
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I love these two poems. The language is elegant, and I learned a lot about these two fascinating animals.
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