WRITE UNDER THE MOON
Maybe I Will
A poem
I haven’t played in a sandbox in awhile.
Walked on an empty beach, bubbles tickling toes.
Caressed the cat on a blustery fall morning,
watching leaves dance on branch tips.
I don’t tuck my shirt in anymore.
I sneak just one more warm chocolate cookie off the rack,
she grins, “caught ya.”
Too long since I wiped the mist off my glasses,
the bow cutting through cresting waves, rises and falls.
Inhaled the sweet scent from a jar of last year’s peaches.
Won at solitaire, without cheating.
Tied a gray hackle on a 3 lb tippet with ice cold feet.
Blown bubbles lying at the bottom of the sea
watching golden kelp fronds hold them gently,
only to let them scurry away.
Tuned the old guitar with new strings.
Rubbed down my hiking boots with waterproof goop
readying them for a mushroom forage.
It has been too long since I felt the sun reflecting off granite boulders,
the scent of pines filling my nostrils.
Opened a cold beer with my buddies around a raging fire.
I long to feel the ache in my forearms, beading sweat
as I pull on the rod under the scorching sun.
So long since I took a stroll hand in hand with my other… Why?
It’s refreshing to know sitting here with my mug in hand,
so many things to do again.
Thumb the pages of that dusty book sitting in the same spot.
Sit still in a noisy train station far away,
watching the crowd sway in rhythm to the beat in my headphones.
Maybe I will just sit in my favorite spot and watch the
white crash into the rocks, absorb the concussion and relish
in the scent of the sea.
Finding peace can be more difficult some days. Expressing seems to soothe that, for me. Here’s to all the writers expressing their own needs. Thanks for letting me share.
