|
| walls |
| (a seashore, 1959) |
| This child on the jetties |
| courageously balanced, |
| bare toes clench the rocks, |
| arms outstretched, |
| the small angel perched, |
| her heaven and earth |
| drenched in the spray of the surf. |
| An ocean rushes her feet |
| on this last thread of land |
| way out here, very far |
| from her grandmother's eye, |
| the thundering crests spilling in, |
| turquoise walls, below, tumbling |
| shatter on stone |
| and her feet bravely dab |
| scattered remnants of waves. |
| Next year, she thinks, |
| she'll be braver, |
| descending the boulders, |
| her body embraced |
| in the crash of the waves |
| bathed in their light, |
| reaching, her hands toppling |
| these turquoise walls. |
| © Jon Bohrn (1999) |
