my first definition of power was a tidepool.
barnacles duke it out on granite battlefields
intergenerational wars for space,
pressed against the limits of what is tolerable.
the shoreline turns salty mosaic
serpentine carvings delineate borders between species
and I imagine this is what war looks like from space.
biology teaches us nature is a combat zone:
resources are scarce,
good competitors win,
bad competitors lose,
and we are merely life repeating itself.
there are competitors and there is me –
lonely child obsessed with water and as a scientist,
I am often told to work in isolation
for the climate roars
and I alone must put out its flame.
there are scientists and there is me –
card-carrying ecologist
stares at the ocean for so long one iris turns cyan
I translate the sea and learn a different story.
a mussel says, I need my brethren to survive.
my body is a refuge
and all newcomers cling to me as shelter in the pulling waves
onshore
sea oats huddle together
far apart from each other, they perish
but in clumps, they catch sand and become dunes
in numbers
they build entire coastlines.
deep in midnight blue
I watch a coral twice my size depend on algae
smaller than my fingernail to make it through the night.
I translate the sea into 5 languages:
from my native tongues, to english, to scientific jargon and back again
example: the stress gradient hypothesis predicts
“ecological interactions between organisms shift positively
as environmental stress increases.”
in plainer words:
when life seems most unsurvivable,
we help each other.
I translate the sea because no one is listening.
this coastline can teach us resilience
cooperation
stability
the ocean says,
my most diverse ecosystems are the ones that thrive
and I wonder
how the giant whale, rolling its grey eye towards me
and those strange little barnacles
know life’s lessons long before we do.
in these briny gyres, there are planktonic fish larvae.
in plainer words:
small, young, and free-floating aimlessly in a wide expanse
and there is me –
small, young, and diasporically carried by currents far
beyond my understanding.
I also search for a place to settle
I search for people to find refuge in, to cling to
dispersal, flung thousands of miles away from home
like plankton and suddenly
community is lifeline.
as a scientist,
I am often told to work alone.
I say no.
I am often told to work alone and I say no!
I will not ignore life’s lessons.
me
a freckled face with a bucket at the tidepool
I spent my whole life translating,
and today I speak for the sea.
I say:
everything is connected.
every breath we take in this room is a gift from the water.
she gathers and folds carbon dioxide into the deep
so that we might inhale, just one more time.
we walk within a rich tapestry of other living beings.
we need each other.
mutual aid networks started here, in our cells
in the very fabric of our evolution
if the microscopic plankton know this lesson, we can too.
there is no such thing as too late, in a tidepool.
when life seems most unsurvivable,
we help each other.
today I speak for the sea, and I pass on this message:
when we touch the earth, she touches us back.
survival is not lonely
nor was it ever meant to be.
—
Maya Zeff is a marine ecologist, poet, and educator who weaves together science and poetry to deepen understanding and connection to the natural world. She is a Youth Speaks Bay Area Grand Slam Champion who has performed on national stages, including Brave New Voices and the College Unions Poetry Slam Invitational with the Brown University team. When not writing or researching, she can usually be found several meters below sea level.
