John Grey
Family Vacation

It’s where heaven got most of its ideas:
the beach, half pebble, half sand,
the unwitting eternity of waves,
back and forth, back and forth,
and beyond the shore, the village,
narrow main street, quaint shops,
the sainted smell of fudge,
and the candied window
that offered a child’s eye view
into the heart of its maker.

And, in the rented cottage,
it’s where memory overtook
the date on Mo’s Garage Calendar,
my mother talking honeymoon,
my father, fish,
and grandpa reminiscing
of the time he met his wife
by the painted ponies of the carousel

It’s where we parted ways each morning,
one with rod and reel,
one to swim,
one to poke about the souvenir stores,
one to sit upon a bench,
resume his warm communion with the tides.

It’s where we reconvened come twilight,
to put us back together,
with sea bass, damp trunks,
a mermaid painted on a shell,
and a grin big as the day,
as a hundred days just like this.

Even I remembered the year before
so vividly, so madcap wet and salty wild,
so sweet on the tongue,
my first time looking back
in a life that was all forward.

_ _

John Grey is an Australian poet and US resident. His work has been recently published in New Plains Review, Mudfish and Spindrift, with upcoming appearances in South Carolina Review, Gargoyle, Sanskrit and Louisiana Literature.

>> Back to Issue 18, 2015