Even if you’re the rocket scientist’s daughter, growing up in a fishing community gives you an early acquaintance with two immutable forces: the ocean and death. One of my grammar school friends had a father who fished on the tuna fleet. One season, he just didn’t come back. In a restaurant in San Pedro, you can see photos that show why this wasn’t a rare occurrence. The tuna boats in the 1950 were low-slung, and the men hauled the enormous tunas overhead so fast the deck became slick with scales. Fishing in a turbulent sea, a rogue wave could wash men overboard. Those tuna boats weren’t exactly equipped for rescue missions. That might just be the end, as it was for Mr. Svicarovich. The poem, in my book Gods of Water and Air, celebrates the ocean’s devout widows. Get GODS OF WATER AND AIR on Amazon..