Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Brewster Tidal Flats -- Poetry 2011

A hand full of breeze in your hair -

you run on mud flats at low tide.

Small legs churn splashing in and out

of reflections in low tide puddles.

Setting sun reflects off chestnut curls -

Granddad follows close behind

your darting form heading toward

a flock of Terns  and reeling Sea Gulls.

Shadows stretch toward sandy shore

coated with evening sky’s glowing tint.

A spring ten years later nearly stopped all your

forward movement; thought your granddad would

die watching the paramedics  pull you back.

Cane in hand, your small legs carry you forward

with a rocking gate - paralytic muscles fail to develop.

There was no portent of the future in the photograph

taken when you were two racing birds on the horizon;

you will always be my runner…


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