A poem for a wistful sort of day. . .
Memories wash over me
Foamy waves against my feet,
Calling me deeper in the marrow sea,
Away from the bustle and buildings of my board walk.
I carry papers with me
Of parents and friends and family and times.
They give me identity, they are a map--
Letters of introduction, explanation:
The riptide sucks me down,
Papers float around me
I gather them, damp and precious.
Shiver in the breeze, holding them to dry.
To swim against the tide
Takes more than I am.
Somehow I'm always spit back to the shore
To walk the lonely beach and feel the sand burn my soles.