I am an old woman sitting on the beach
pink scarf holding back windblown hair
a mother makes bird calls
to her children playing
they come running whistling a secret code
huh. a family of birds
beating wings forever young.
growing up was a long paddle then
slicing the wind feeling the board slip
out from under you
fallingdown, standing up falling down, standingup
wave riders make their own delight like babies learning to walk.
the sea pitches windflower caps in harmony with ringing sand underfoot
you hear the possibility of pure clarity, good health
though season’s children don’t recognize these sad retreats.
water builds and fills your ears
for you are now swimming
with the ancients
from time to time you preen
to shore up morale?
I am an old woman sitting
on the beach
pink scarf holding back
I’ll sleep high in a monkey pod
legs dangling in silk trousers,
butter cookies in a tin under my arm dreaming
of the young long boarder on her knees, paddling smooth strokes & with
fluid grace punching through
the wild surf of her youth.
0 thoughts on “Ancestress”
LOVE this, Monica. Beautiful.
Thank you. The thought occurred to me: normally I would grab the boogie board and jump in, but maybe I shouldn't…
Very eloquent. I love the use of surfing as an analogy for the seasons of life.
Dreamy and filled with timeless memories. Beautiful!
Thank you so much, Marcie. Means a lot!
Nothing like the sea to call up both the passage of time and timelessness . . . I found the implied pause between 'pink scarf' and 'holding back' especially evocative.
Tiny losses…and acceptance. Thank you, Deborah.