MID-SEPTEMBER ORANGE BEACH

 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