dropping moment by moment to the base
of a finite hourglass.
Both of my children home together
for the last time.
Summer sands remember
joys of days long buried.
Little hands dig moats protecting
sandcastles and dreams.
Friends and foes strut and snub
on the shore in front of Jack’s.
Cookouts around the firepit,
hotdogs crunchy from sandy fingers.
drop in the sand, but there’s always another.
Brown and soft and melting sweet.
Deeper sands sing of my youth
“There’s a new kid in town…”
Boz Scaggs, Fleetwood Mac, Boston and Foreigner.
Drive music for crossing the valley to the beach.
No books, only sand, seashells and surf.
Summer without obligation.
Deeper still the sands remember
a white Cadillac convertible, big fins shooting jets of flame
Red leather with those cool zippy windows.
Daddy at the wheel,
Mama with a headscarf ala Doris Day
She sings “Fly Me to the Moon”
Three sisters giggle in the backseat
No seatbelts hold us down
We are the Coppertone girls.
© 2005 by Carolyn Burns Bass