Feb 12

summer of dreams

That summer
was the summer
we sat on the shore,
our feet resting
on the damp sand,
staring out at the water
feeling the warm breeze
on our sunkissed skin.
 
We would watch
the sunset
on the horizon in silence
and then splash
knee deep into the cold,
churning sea; screeching with delight
and racing to see
who could dive first
into the salty, wild
world beneath the waves.
 
We would climb
out of the water then
fully soaked,
the hem of our summer dresses
hanging limp
around our ankles
and pull seaweed ribbons
from our tangled hair.
 
We would patter
home barefoot,
always amazed at how long
our wet footprints
stayed on the asphalt
after the sun had gone
and laugh about
who looked the most
like a child born
from the sea.

On the way home
we would always stop
at the candy store
and buy
salt water taffy
for five cents each.
 
We would pick
the wild roses
that grew along the road,
snapping the shiny thorns
off with our nails
before weaving
them into each other's
knotted, salt flavored hair.
 
By the time
we reached the big, white house
on the corner
there was no better word
to describe us
than joyful.
We would come back:
our faded, blue dresses
dirty and dripping,
our feet sandy,
our hair matted and salty
with seaweed confetti
and wild roses
in our curls,
our breath sweet
with taffy
and still all you
would do was laugh
and send us up to bathe;
you knew we
were only
children.