Jeanne Iris is hosting the Poetry Bus this week, and I'm trying to get onboard.
I chose the third option: What is your favorite summer sensory memory?
The aroma of honeysuckle? gardenias? sweat? s'mores?
The sounds of tree frogs? block parties? a favorite song? the beach?
The touch of summer romance? itch of mosquito bites? poison ivy? breezes?
The taste from the Good Humor truck? BBQ? salt water? apple pie?
The sight of family reunions? long car trips? a first date? summer rain?
I sit on the porch with Beth.
on tongue and groove
like little river-waves
slapping the sea-wall along the Cape Fear.
The gospel of peace,
now fervently preached here,
belies crumbling forts.
No guns remain to bark out
bitter words of war.
I walk the beach alone
and think I can see forever.
My eyes, not yet wizened by age,
do not note the hurricane that lurks
just beyond my warm sand world.
I buy cheap souvenirs,
trinkets for my friends.
Pelicans in tight formation circle overhead,
denizens of estuaries alive yet putrid.
Like me, they seem carefree this day.
I am content as I rock with Beth
at Fort Caswell on the Cape Fear
where river and ocean rush to meet,
a boy adrift on the edge of thirteen,
feeling safe for the last time.
(See http://www.fortcaswell.com/ for
more on the NC Baptist Assembly there)