Labor Day
Labor day already.
We went back
to Brookline from Marshfield,
where we summered.
With the ocean at the bottom
of the street, two streets over.
We walked barefoot down the asphalt
and the pebbled street, and over
the rocks above the sandy beach.
Our feet toughened, calloused,
for walking all summer long unshod.
We took excursions
to the penny candy store in Brant Rock
or the horse farm (with two or three horses
in an arid field) at ocean street’s end.
Searching out blueberries and blackberries,
to gift our mother with.
Only our shirts rolled up
to carry them.
(Better not rob the
strawberry patch in
old man Allen’s yard,
for him seeing all
he would be out with his shotgun
to chase away us munchkins.
The word was out on that.)
Stopping to rest, in our travels
on the old stone steps
in front of the house
hidden behind overgrown
brush and trees.
Or on a tree branch, hanging low
in the wooded ground
bordering the yards of
vast Victorian cottages.
Walking the sea wall from
whence it started, off the beach
or from the road.
Later we gathered sea moss
for aunt Bridie to wizard-like make
her famous carrageen pudding!
we rode bikes down hilly lanes.
Went down to the marsh
we trekked through to swim in the river,
with it’s strong currents or placidity.
We tromped through shaded woods,
and sunny back yards,
(running over vain lawns),
the grass yielding like soft moss
under our feet.
yes, time let us be
what we wanted to be.
Pirates and princes, unicorns,
Joan of arc, lions in cages,
batman and robin, riders
and runners of rickshaws,
or mermaids all the day long until
the sun was sinking towards the sea,
and our hands and feet were wrinkled deep.
Morning Home
I sit with my coffee.
It is still dark outside, quiet.
My cat is sitting on the cupboard
licking his leg.
looking up, in time.
Outside silhouettes of branches
break
the sky –
into dark gaps, like
fissures on a frozen lake.
A bird sings a few short notes.
again.
and then, again.
The cat tilts his head up.
then returns to pruning.
It takes it’s time,
the light,
to permeate the day.
I look over at the
displaced
second-hand sled
I picked up in a second-hand store,
leaning against the island,
bringing home home.
