seven summers at the beach


    that would be a good title
    for your book about depression
    she said, as if it were something
    I could come home and put
    into words that could one day
    be pulled from the shelf

    she knows I have it in me
    my darkness has ebbed
    and flowed like the tides
    each season sometimes quiet
    sometimes lashing against
    the sea wall throwing stones

    when we walk together
    we stop at the same spot
    and look out over the water
    we gaze from the same place
    but the view is different
    every time we stop

    seven summers at the beach
    and I know my ebb
    and flow, the gathering
    storms and the quiet seas
    and I have survived
    like an old seafarer

    one day my view will change
    I will not see the sea
    when I stop to find myself
    she will be beside me still
    that’s how I will know
    where I am

    and she will take my hand
    and say, remember our
    seven summers at the beach
    oh yes, I’ll say and we
    walk home together
    as sure as the tides



    1. Oh Milton… so beautiful, so real.

      I almost feel like a philistine interrupting this poem with my “Tag you’re it!”

      But It must be done.

      Go here for instructions.

      Pax, C.

      More poetry. Please.

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