Mary Jane's Shoes

Mary Jane's Shoes

Musings of one person among many. Not exceptional in any way, as with all, I have exceptional experiences and varied reactions to those events. Mine is one of many life stories and how I manage and cope with the events which make my life my own, I attempt to put forth by way of my writings.

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Fried Shrimp for Dinner

November 2, 2012

~

slippers off as wood meets shore

cool grains of sand soften

pumice the heels that have hardened

safety is sure from spurs which did cling and pierce

through slippuhs some

relief as a line of pure sand and shells is met

~

moving water builds

a crescendo in both volumes,

sound and amount

turning upon itself does the wave

water seems to flatten, spreads as batter in a skillet

the roar rises in pitch

softens as water approaches my ears

~

young cousins scream as if they would rather not meet water at their feet

each turns, each runs, with innocent fibs

~

digging toes into moistened sand, I

lured memories out of small craters dug

our wood cottage still exists

smelling of cocoa butter and coppertone and salt and hamburgers

the scents of summers in the sixties

~

cousins, all too young to need solitary recharge, curl on shared beds

still in need of naps, she orders, parents need solitude

no matter

whispers and small-volumed jokes

only the cousins understand the reason for the laughter

under cheeks and elbows sand rubs, scratches

from inadequate rinses

this is a pleasing discomfort

the shore does not allow us to forget where we are

~

restless

we are losing hours in the sun

the nod is given to feel hot sand under our feet

semi-sandfree bathing suits

cold and tangled hanging on shower bars and railings

children’s flags of summer color

soon replace shorts and t-shirts

white lotion on fresh skin

we run to feed on sunlight and water just as sea oats in the dune

~

she sits in a baby pool used as a boat spinning

in tepid rolling water

 her hair, brown with streaks of sunlight, damp with ocean spray

slaps her back with each wave turning

get past the first few breaks

where “fried shrimp for dinner and crab hunting in the dark” thoughts seep

into the thrill of riding the surf

hush puppies frying and flashlights with fresh batteries

she rocks in her makeshift boat

~

my feet fill the craters dug

now larger as I was absent, visiting summers some years back

my brown hair streaked with gray,

moist with spray

slaps the skin upon my back

~

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