Walking at Day’s End

 

34e0f0dad2aa4cfb595664163e11d044-1Explain to me how the sea

puts parentheses around the years

since my father held my waist.

We jumped the waves,

and he sang off key to me.

So much time has stacked up

but I walk along at low tide,

the water here dotted with bits of red seaweed,

feel only the water and the sand,

walk over shells of small crabs, or parts of their legs,

till the water laps up again and I see only

foam at the water’s edges.

Show me why the sea is so like

old words on the page,

why I can read and reread a poem

its meaning constant

text embedded deep in my neurons

though life whirls me

from single to married

childless to primagravida

to mother of two

to mother of two grown, off in the world.

 

~Lynne Viti

 

Originally published in Poetry Pacific literary magazine

 

 

 

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