In celebration of Poetry Month.
MID-SEPTEMBER
ORANGE BEACH
Pink, brown, cream, grey
Shattered, scattered
At the edge of the sea,
I’m thinking of Annabel Lee.
Blue and white
Glisten gold in the stream.
Ruffled waves
Breaker waves.
Children leaning over with
Cups in their hands
Scooping the sand.
Footprints of moments
Played hours ago,
Broken, buffeted, buried.
Empty chairs
Face the waves.
A perfect shell --
Rare indeed
After the sanding
Of the harsh sea.
Cool wind whistling in my ears.
Here and now
The ending of a beautiful day.
A girl posing for a picture
In a wind-whipped dress.
One, two, three
On her tiptoes
Hand behind her head,
Blonde, blown tresses covering her face.
A couple
Arms interlocked
Sitting on the rocks of the jetty
Looking out to sea.
Boys strolling the beach.
Jumping in the waves
Chasing birds at day’s end.
Just boys
Lying in the shallow water
Letting waves break over their
Beached bodies,
Their voices
Floating across the sand to me.
People heading home.
White tipped sailboats skim the shore
To the harbor.
Channel lights flickering on
As fishermen for hire
Head to dock.
A party starting
On a patio.
Pink blue lilac sky.
Steps retraced
Stepped before.
Mid - September beach
Almost over.
Amy Holt Taylor
