Not All Deaths Are the Same

Some are sacrifices for the living

Photo by Mujahed Shariff on Unsplash

Passionate summer, barefoot days,
Left sharp barbs from the sea oats,
Piercing our calloused heels and hearts.

Summer waned into autumn evenings,
The sunset leaving dewy cold damp,
To settle on sun-soaked,
Towheaded surfer babies.
Their noses,
Tiny pink cherries on top,
Of squealing, giggling smiles.
They are no longer splashing,
In the tidal pools.
The water is too cool for dipping.
Sand crusted dimpled,
Bare baby knees,
Bundled up in warm fuzzies.

Salt air stinging,
Sand, wind whipping,
Chowder clams,
Washing up on the shore.
You whipped out a pocketknife,
And gobbled one right there,
Clam nectar dripping down your chin.
It brought back memories,
Years before the hardening of our hearts,
Before we started walking alone when together.
Back when we really cared.