Day's Adrift

I open a shoebox labeled VACATIONS

photographs fall out together comingling

generations. Sunburned faces atop wet

bathing suits smile back at me. I swim into the past.

 

Visits to the beach, the ocean roared

onto shore. An old ramshackle beach house

where laughter lived. My children fought

over sandcastles, how I long to live close to them now.

 

If I could only smell the salt air, I would dream

of tomorrow. I have questions with no answers.

Will I return to the beach someday?

Will my children share the same sunset?

 

I grasp the thin stem of a wine glass and savor

the oak flavor of the chardonnay within. In dark

recesses, images flicker like an old movie.

Scenes of shifting days through my mind.

 

Sand whips across the dune, seagrass stands tall

against a blue sky, seagulls squawk overhead,

and jellyfish wash up in the surf. I set down my

wine glass and return to now.

 

Published by: The Raven’s Perch