Seaside
We are a family at the seaside,
wearing seaside clothes and hats,
seaside smiles, seaside shoes,
seaside skin, oiled to a high gloss.
If we could we would stop time now,
here, on this day before the world
unravels; the universe on its sure
implosion course.
We would find some way
to keep her tan line just like that,
the sumptuous dinner on the deck
the long shadows of umbrellas
radio dishes tuned on the sun.
Her half-devoured book,
resting on her lap, right there,
page 112,
as she drifts in daydream.
Sometimes you have to wonder what
keeps us going, gunning toward
almost certain suffering.
But look across the sand, the way
it buttresses the beach, the sky
wrapped around like a gift,
And it happens, she turns, slowly,
to look back, the shadow of her hat
lies down on her neck, so quietly,
and you see it: the reason.
The.American.Word. 