Isn’t it funny
How year after year
You must learn again how to walk
On the sand by the sea-side?
By the time you can frollick
Not a doubt in the world
As if this were your natural state
Summer draws to a close
And you must leave the coast.
Your skin forgets the breeze
Your tongue, the salt-water taste
Your eyes, the limitless horizon.
Your mind remembers, but only offers vague memories.
School, work, the “real world”
resumes as if Providence pressed play.
Jerky and mute at first,
The gears finding their rhythm.
We are not the only ones to forget.
The sands forget too.
Once loose and free,
tossed about in play.
Young architects, old dogs, couples of every age,
Names, dates, masterpieces painted
As if with a calligrapher’s brush
All leaving their eternally brief mark.
The sand settles,
No more castles, or trenches
No more loungers, or sunbathers
Only the steady beat of the waves.
The sand dries up.
Hardens from disuse.
Not so different from the dessserts
With their untouched reaches.
It too forgets how to play.
How to fly free in the breeze.
How J + T were in love here.
Cracks soon show its loneliness.
Just when all hope seems lost.
When school’s tests seem to win
When work is its most mundane
When the sand becomes hard as rock…
The first step…
The first clumsy, stumbling,
Forgetful, childlike step…
Breaking through the sand
Releasing all memories and tension.
Freeing a year’s worth of defeat,
Stress, weariness, and grief.
Summer returns again…