April poetry, day 8

Beach Rituals

At sixteen my son and his two friends
are cresting the first wave of manhood –
their arms and legs extend

from their torsos like freshly molded
coils of clay, and a glaze of down
glistens on their upper lips.

After slapping on a few dabs of sunscreen
they trudge across the sand, in the wake
of three Venus de Milos with dimpled hips.

Laughter trails away with the cries
of gulls and breakers. A breeze carries
the scent of salt, mollusks, and seaweed

to my spot under a lime-green tent,
where I’m sheathed in a long-sleeve blouse,
protected with sunglasses and a hat.

They bare their chests beneath
a sun nailed to the sky, poised to forget
that I’m in the background, waiting.

***

This one was supposed to be about routines, but I veered from the theme a bit. It’s hard to write or even think about routines when I’m at the beach.

From my vantage point on a bench outside the Venice Library there’s a giant palm tree, a live oak with a wide canopy,and a lovely sea breeze calling me back to the waves. I miss you all, but I’ll catch up when I return on Sunday. I have a few poems to write between now and then, since I’m a day behind with napowrimo!

dyalns-letter-a

7 thoughts on “April poetry, day 8

  1. jo says:

    Really like this, especially the last stanza. You’ve done so well this week……pressure to write obviously agrees with you! Have fun in your tent — I also cover up!

    Like

  2. carolee says:

    as much as i long to be needed by these little boys at my feet a little less, i dread being relegated to the background when they get a little older. this shows that dynamic well.

    Like

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