The 4th that Felt like Fall

Winds whipped at my sweatshirt emblazoned with our school, our someday alma mater, as I stood on the lifeguard tower where I felt obliged to stand, despite the warning sign, the illegality, of my flip-flopped feet on wooden beams six feet above the swirling sands born of the Atlantic. The ocean made up of crushing, grinding, slowly churning waves that crashed anew into the gray tan sandy shore where a lone fisherman stood silently. Far away people walked slowly down the shoreline and your cousins ran around hanging from the beams, throwing a lighted disc that the wind caught, an obnoxious monkey in the middle. I ducked out of the way, keeping an eye on your silhouette and the lit matches that the wind quickly blew out, but one gets lucky and sparks fly heavenward and I held my body, trying to keep my heat in as the wind whisked away ashes, loose hairs, warmth. My necklace rests about my collarbone secure and sparkling in the light from the beacon within the mists of the foggy evening salt sand mixed in my hair, fog left as residue on the nape of my neck. Fires won’t burn tonight but you’ll hug me close, a tight squeeze to let me know you’re there, and your chin on my skin to the left of my neck, lips next to my ear so if you whisper I will hear.

Written in Summer 2009 on a piece of scrap paper with a bit of revision today from poem format to a more prose-like format.

Creative Commons License
This work by Sarah Holmes is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License

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