by A. Paige White
Moss Point bound to point the sound
of salty sea breezes and first interactions
of a little salt's first trip through
Katrina cacophonous sands to gulf a quieted ocean.
Few the takers to observe three trekkers
Pass salt marshes in June's permissive may
captives take their hearts to salty
Sand, tiny footprints lead the way
Until the feet touch and feel the sand.
Previous beaches scouted by an older salty's
Piercing eyes of gray reflective of a mighty sun
With gentleness to portray a long life's love
And acclimation of a one so young
to the stern beauties of the ocean.
Powdery sand little feet find strange the feel
So walking between old salty and his little woman
The foot comes up storklike, then in a pair
til he's carried by his hands
There lives no lies in sky blue eyes
Big eyed fear of largeness grew
For always before all water he knew
Was captured in some little pool.
Hop on Pops, boy hoist aloft
At Nanas giggly observation
of possible undiapered golden showers
Gruffness softens in remonstrations
Salt water is an efficient cleanser
Of such soilings
Down now to waters edge
On into the ocean
Little toes exposed
To the gentle lapping
Then they sit, boy and man
Communing quietly with breeze and sea
And little legs begin
Guarded brave watery exploration
laughter rings with the joy it brings.
09/02/2006
Author's Note: I really am going to finish this. Really. I am.
