Monday, January 31, 2011

Last Day at the Cactus Hotel

I wrote this little poem on the last day at Faux Cap, on my Christmas vacation.
December 30th, 2010

Last Day at the Cactus Hotel

What do I want to remember from this day?
The seven white birds flying across the water
landing on the shelf that is tide pools
where the waves break and spray,
where the agile fisherman hunts shellfish
with his long thin legs and arms,
where we swam through the blue-green
discovered anenomes, surprised barnicles.

The sun hits my leg, golden reflects silver
on the water and the waves.
My thoughts turn to so many different things
but always come back to the sound churning,
the touch of the breeze,
the shadows of small cactus on the sand,
the pattern of sand on my feet,
the reflection of the thin man on the tide pool
who squats now intently examining something.

What do I want to remember from this day?
The sounds of preparation in the kitchen,
the shuffle of a footstep bringing tea,
the silent movement of a lizard over sand.

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