I slip from the bed before the sun kisses the water,
pull on jeans cut off to hide torn out knees
shirt square from too many dances with the dryer
Keds with no memory of being in box white.
I snatch bread from the bag and fold it around peanut butter
untoasted because I see sun fingers stretching
and I am almost out of time to grab the duct taped rod
and Anne of Green Gables (third time this summer)
before I stake my claim to the blue rowboat that is beginning
to crave the bottom of the Bay and only skims the water
because we are more stubborn than it this summer.
I fall into the rhythm - row, bail, row, bail, but I stop
armpit high from the shore because stubborn isn't stupid
and toss the line without caring where it lands.
It is the view and the lullaby of the water against the
dying boat I crave, but the rod validates my claim
to a spot where siblings and cousins do not swarm
because no one will swim out to the boat -
have you seen what lurks beneath?
I can hear the water lapping in the rhythm of your words.ReplyDelete
I adore this one. It's not a word I tend to use, so I'm wondering why it pops up now. There's a purity, a lust for life, a captivation of childhood that make me want to read it again and again.ReplyDelete
Beautiful, vivid pictures and a sweet sense of urgency - love it!ReplyDelete
I am in the morning light on the water with you. Lovely piece!ReplyDelete
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