You, the summer sunset
glistening on wet skin.
A patina of sand
and goosebumps
my fingers touched
on purpose.
Me, awkward in your
too-big sweatshirt.
Beach sand gritty,
spotted with tar,
stuck between
my toes.
Our first time
together, almost
at an end, we
sat in your car,
beach sand settling
on the floorboards.
You are thousands
of miles away. Kids
and grandkids
fill your life. But if
you walk along the ocean,
pick up beach sand,
think of me.
published in Paddler Press Volume 5, “Summer Fare,” republished on Contemplate
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