1986

George Tsakraklides
Nov 2 · 2 min read

The Summer of 1986 was the last time I ever saw you,

on the beach where I had spent my childhood years.

It was a hot day, the beach crowded with childrens’ voices.

You were all alone by yourself, at the back of the beach,

trying to fade into the background

trying to protect yourself

Growing precariously between a plastic bottle and the cement staircase leading to the beach

You produced a large, white flower that was brighter than the sun

the petals gently waving in the sea breeze

Like a peace flag to the tourists in the hope of leaving you be

It was the last time I ever saw you on that beach

wondering if someone cut you

or if a beach umbrella fatally stabbed you at your bulb

or if you felt so lonely that you gave up

Pancratium Maritimum

Sea Daffodil

Beach Amaryllis

30 years later, I saw your relatives on a remote island

But I couldn’t bring myself to tell them that you were gone

You can follow me on Twitter @99blackbaloons

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George Tsakraklides

Written by

Molecular biologist, food scientist, advocate for an Earth of empathy, gratitude, compassion, awareness. Recovering workaholic, author of Age of Separateness.

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