Next to the Waves
Great is the moon
The ocean its loyal servant
creating and destroying
in the same wave
They sink ships and promise freedom
to those lost in the expanse
I fell onto my bed this morning and realized
there isn’t a grain of sand in my room
Let’s ride our bikes off into the sunset
and swim to the moon’s edge
Let’s float there and surrender ourselves
We could find peace consumed by the calm
then find our way to shore by the light of the bonfire
The laughter of friends left behind
Take my hand, pay no mind to the gravel between our toes
soon it will be sand and we can lay there
carving our names into the rock
But the markings will fade and the tide will rise,
sweep us off the sand bar, smother the fire
spit us out with a crash
We’ll stumble home before dawn
wearing our memories and sand
Salt water stained floorboards wear their age well
The nails, well blackened with rust
have already kissed the sea once,
so the idea of drifting once again
into its embrace feels familiar and safe;
a good death
Until then, they bask in the warmth
and crackles of the fire as another log is thrown on
They dance with Paul Chambers’ double bass
and their company is appreciated
It’s August 18th, storm season is coming soon
It was Irene who stole the ocean
Masquerading as a prophet of the moon
she whispered tales of power and freedom
to the waves
She claimed the moon willed a storm
The ocean was tricked, and let
Irene and her legion of waves grow
and head west, towards land
Her reign lasted nine days
When the moon finally shone through the eye of the storm
from its peephole it saw what had been done
My fingers glide across the worn pews as I walk to my seat
December is burning out and the town has been rebuilding,
but the church, placed atop a hill, was safe
The wooden seawall betrayed us and was washed away,
but in this pew, the old wood emanates comfort
It feels the same as last year
After the carols are sung, a silence sweeps into the room
as everyone is lost in prayer
Without much faith I sit awkwardly
a lone witness to the lights fading away
The night is welcomed in
And the candles, held tightly in everyone’s hands, are lit
Flames are carefully passed down from grandparents to children
from wives to husbands
across rows of childhood friends
The lights are out yet the room is illuminated
Little by little
By everyone
Each a small but crucial part
Of the light
As everyone filed out of the service,
I walked back to the ocean
and began to build
I built a town in the sand with
a main street, hosting a movie theater
and a diner, where grandparents got breakfast
Sprawling collections of houses
neighbors shared drinks on porches
as their children climbed little sand trees outside
Piers jutting out into the ocean
from which kids could do backflips into the sea
and men could cast off lines and find fresh dinner
A church on a mound of sand
and even a sand seawall that went
on for miles and was beautiful in its detail
With my little town finished,
I stripped down and jumped
into the December water
The frigid waves pulsed
with the slightest heat from the summer
and glimmered with the light of the sunrise as I left
By morning my little town was gone
and looking at the grains of my fallen masterpiece
I couldn’t help but laugh
I can learn to forgive the ocean
I miss finding sand in my bed anyway