I lie beside her on the sand
Watching her breathe---
In ... and ... out. In ... and ... out.
And I try to match her rhythm,
To be in sync with her.
And I try to match her rhythm,
To be in sync with her.
We are alike in many ways.
Our bodies catch the light
And glisten in the sun.
Our bodies catch the light
And glisten in the sun.
We both have wrinkled skin.
It makes me feel so old.
It makes me feel so old.
I wonder just how old she is.
She has a right to be wrinkled
For she is old, so old.
She has a right to be wrinkled
For she is old, so old.
The sea.
© Joyce M. Broughton, 1997
1 comment:
Joyce, I am delighted to see this poem here! I have always loved the single image that carries throughout the poem, the strength of it, the simplicity. I want to go put my wrinkled old self out in the sun by the sea---right now! Hope we can have a meeting we are both able to attend very soon. I plan to make in during my June break. Hope you can come, too. oxox
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