SUNDAYS AT THE BEACH
the cupboard is bare no way to undo the past an impressionist’s scene
full of memories sundays at the beach collecting shells
each one unique cream pink to pearly white
the shore like a desert yet, waves roll in crash and then back to sea
the sun beats down we draw lines in the sand the sound of a flute
floats on the wind girls in trim bathing suits grin for photos
the old album full of photographs turning yellow
curling at the corners we ran into the sea panting
we remember that day as if it was yesterday names hard to recall
on that day a little boy drown no one knew what happened
at noon we built a fire roasted hot dogs waited to see
April 9, 2017
9 comments:
OH! That cupboard, that photo album, this poem of love!
It struck me, the boy who drowned against the backdrop of the picnic, the fun of the beach. You painted the scene so clearly. I can see it.
The boy that drowned and the picnic play as a contrast...strong images.
Your poem is a painting, Annell. My eyes go from one image to another...viewing the scene through your poetic eyes. And then there is the little boy who drowned....and then life goes on anyway as hot dogs are roasted. Powerful writing today.
Now you're cookin' with gas!
That was perfect!
ZQ
You set a wonderful scene, allow us to relax and enjoy, then drop tragic reality into it. Powerful stuff, Annell,
Elizabeth
The strange thing about old photos is the we keep but when we look at them after so many years we finish up in tears.
Very nostalgic. Took me back on time!
This is so evocative!
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