My Cart 
Login 

Previous

At the Edge of the Beach
by
Laurie Aron


Next
 

We are at the end of the world, Mare and I,
at the rim of the ice dark Atlantic, its chill curls
lapping at our toes.

I’ve spent July with sweaty arms tight round my waist, and Mary claims I taught her all the words 
she’s not supposed to know. She’s going to marry Christ, and not some ordinary boy.

Late summer’s lick of winter ruffles our hair. We should go in.
I say how romantic those shacks out along the point, Mare, how poignant they are, strung to their 
utility poles.

Laur, she says sensibly, it would be prettier without them.
We sat on that curve of beach, when we were twelve,
where civilization crept out among the sand pipers
on sad loops of utility lines.


© by Laurie Joan Aron.
Used with the author's permission.


Laurie Aron is a writer who lives in New York City.


Post New Comment:
sillygirl:
Amen. Beautiful. :)
Posted 09/22/2010 07:54 AM


Contents of this web site and all original text and images therein are copyright © by Your Daily Poem. All rights reserved.
As an Amazon Associate I earn from qualifying purchases. Purchasing books through any poet's Amazon links helps to support Your Daily Poem.
The material on this site may not be copied, reproduced, downloaded, distributed, transmitted, stored, altered, adapted,
or otherwise used in any way without the express written permission of the owner.