Beachfront (a poem)

One of those times when a single line pops into my head and I follow it from there.

I want to say I’m reminded of the seaside,
but that’s nothing more than a romantic notion.

I have mixed emotions about the ocean.

In movies, there’s something beautiful,
even poignant, about the tide rushing in
or rolling out while a bright moon hovers above,
or the sunset colors the sky in scarlet, crimson, or tangerine.

In real life, the beach is covered in tire tracks,
the breeze stinks of salt and kelp,
the water’s cold,
and the whole scene is at an inexplicable distance.

Of her inner ocean,
all I remember now is the turbulence,
the wreckage of our crudely fashioned vessel
against rocks we put in our own path.

My dream of a cabin by a placid lake
doesn’t exist. That’s why it would have had
greater odds of success,

had I chosen to close my eyes.

(25 January 2021)

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