(Published in Bubble, Online Literary Magazine)
I never thought I would miss my hometown
or the fifty-cent bus ride
to the white sands of Jones Beach
we met friends
at the designated lifeguard stand
salt and stray strands of seaweed
in our hair
we crowded tables at the beachfront diner
pressed shoulders
shivered in wet bathing suits
smeared ketchup on our fries
a taste I can no longer separate
from my memory of the ocean’s spray
I never thought I would miss the marina
where our father took us
for spins across the tide in the Runabout
catching reflections on broken blue glass
inhaling the freshness of caught fish
sitting on the bow and wading ashore
to gather wild blackberries
in winter our father drydocked the boat
set us to work applying putty
to cracks in the hull
stood nearby and watched
asked if his face was weather-beaten
enough to impress Hemingway
I never thought I would miss the motorboat
my brother bought
though I seldom rode in it
watched him grow
navigate life
as he stood at the helm
and conquered the waves
I never thought I would miss the universe’s voice
since Harpocrates embraced me—
easy access to friendship
emotional closeness
sharing of opinions
chattering
all now require much effort
these days I live far from the beach
far from people
even when I’m near them
then someone smiles
with the warmth of my hometown—
tells me repeating a comment is no trouble at all
