Midsummer at the Jersey Shore

 

I've been gone 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 sides.

The ocean wants me, too, enough to salt

my arms before I reach her moistened edge—

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.

At the edge, 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 Ocean and Earth, then mark space

with blanket and books and water bottle.

Ocean and Earth and Sky intersect where

I stand—between, among, and inside them—

lining up bottle caps and sparkling stones.

This midsummer meeting needs no fire or drums.

Its mystery predates evil: To stay

in relationship no matter what comes.

Posted for the open link today at What's Going On?

          

          Written 7 June 2017 for my prompt (an eon ago) at Poets United.

My blog poems are rough drafts.   

Please respect my copyright. 

© 2017 Susan L. Chast, revised 2026