The Innisfree Poetry Journal www.innisfreepoetry.org by Judith Bowles
Left Behind
We had grown used to the sand and hot stones under our feet, the salty taste of our towels, the strange little houses we all stayed in that faced each other with slamming screen doors and wide open windows. And how everything there in Florida happened outside. When my brother and I grew used to that house— Where our mother had brought us to get healthy again— foam on the ocean was a cloud dipping down that tickled our feet and made a soft sink. I carried that thought back from the beach and slept with it. My fourth birthday brought large, flat paper presents that got left behind In the wide open house. Something bad happened to my aunt and we had to go home one night. It went very dark in the back of the car. Copyright 2006-2012 by Cook Communication |