"Jubilee"

Gabrielle Calvocoressi's poem "Jubilee" reminds me very much of growing up in the South. It's structure reminds me of stories of old Spirituals; its reminiscent of a time when the simplest things in life mean the most.  "Come down to the water." A simple command to come to the place of life, itself. Come to celebrate life with any noise maker you can find; it doesn't have to be a pretty noise, just a joyful one. Come down to the bay where even the ocean life is surfacing to join the celebration. 

I remember fishing with my grandfather all up and down the Gulf Coast. We took his fishing boat out on the flats, where the water was calm (most of the time) and clear; deceptively clear. I watched the flounder and the blue crab crawl along the bottom. I thought they were within arms length, but the depth meter read anywhere from 7-10', much deeper than the length of my forearm. The days I spent fishing with my grandfather reminded me how small I was in the world, but I liked that. It made me feel more alive. 

A combination of the water, the sun, and the scales of the fish make them glisten and dance.

Dance, like the girls did, when the boy drove Grandpa Les' Cadillac. 

The poem moves, slowly, the poet and the subject enjoying simply being alive. The boy has nothing tying him down or holding him back. He has his grandpa's car, but no vehicle of his own to make payments on. The girls call to him like katydids, but he keeps driving slowly; teasing them, not making any commitment. The boy is a free spirit in his Cadillac "front seat / like a bed...you'd never buy a car / that big if you only meant to drive it."