I was raised by the wind
in the trees
The crashing of the
waves on the sun-warmed
rocks
The bustle of the forest

I was raised by  
feelings of flying through the
waves
The wooshing of the water
parting at the hull
The mist by our side

I was raised by chipmunk
calls, their scurrying around
the spruce
A deafening buzz of cicada
A crunching of leaves
under calloused, worn,
feet

I was raised by the bumpy
feel of a gravel path on freshly
pumped up tires
The dry earthy smell turning
to the ocean's aroma

I was raised by
the thunk
of ping pong balls getting
hammered
over the net, battered back and forth
The echoes of victorious
shouting voices

I was raised by
a lethargic gaze out at the setting
sun, the glittering ocean causing
a hard squint
A tug of a line, fish on the end
The bending rod
suddenly wide awake

I was raised by
the shine
of mackerel scales
The elegant sway in the
tail of a striped bass
The orange hue
of a cod, yearning to
return to the depths

I was raised by
the constant resistance
of the ocean
The trap line never-ending
The loud hum of the
engine, along with
a trickle of
the cooling water

I was raised by
the pungent smell
of bait
Small cuts from lobster
spines
The constant
battle to stay out
of its claws

I was raised by Summer


© by Owen Dawson.
Used with the author’s permission.