Midsummer at the Jersey Shore

It’s been so long, I try to rush but can’t.

My calves play “push and pull” with sand-soft ground

while soles thicken against each grain’s sharp edge.

The ocean wants me, too, enough to salt

my arms before I reach her moistened slip—

I smell and taste her as I lick an itch,

both hands too full of leisure things to scratch.

Already I breathe with the billowing

skirts of ocean twirling along the shore.

And I haven’t yet felt her cold and wet

between my toes, haven’t yet dared her catch

me, suck the ground beneath and swallow me.

There she is!  Ocean’s playing catch with Earth,

tossing both live and dead beings, mixing

them up with plastic and sea glass and foam.

I place my bags above the high tide line

and bow to both  before marking my space

with blanket and books and water bottle.

Ocean and Earth and Sky intersect where

I am—between, among and inside them—

lining up bottle caps and sparkling stones.

Midsummer meeting needs no fire or drums.

Its mystery predates evil: To stay

in relationship no matter what comes.

*© 1972, Z Budapest

For my prompt 

Poets United Midweek Motif ~ Ocean(s)

My blog poems are rough drafts.   

Please respect my copyright. 

© 2017 Susan L. Chast