A poem
And so we dance
through our portion of days…
keeping particular rhythms
inside the ups and downs.
Swooping, gliding, gyrating,
p a u s i n g.
Giving and taking,
fighting and flowing,
reaching and pulling.
It is too much.
It is not enough.
It is all we can do,
swirling across our opus.
Go to the English seaside
with a picnic
and people you love.
Stop and take too many photos.
Say over and over,
“Isn’t it lovely, just fabulous!”
Smile at every single dog and
sigh at all the babies.
Take a pail and plastic cups,
build a sandcastle then
decorate it with shells,
beach stones and whimsy.
Don’t forget the moat
so the sea can pour in and
cradle your memories.
Bring little pebbles and limpets
back to your B&B then
pack them so very carefully.
Arrive at the airport smelling slightly
of seaweed and sand and September sky.
Put a picture of the castle on your fridge
or phone or both so that the sound of gulls
crying to the waves will swirl and loop
around your heart each morning.
ALH
Literary wanderings 