The Walker Beach House
The house leans slightly toward the sea,
weathered silver by wind, rain and molten
streams of sunlight. The front porch stretching
north to south is furnished with a creaking
glider and two chairs that huddle and sag
like an old couple waiting for their sunset.
On the clothesline, two red towels flap
in a giddy summer folk dance. Precious
sea oats nod atop the tallest dunes.
I make my way along the narrow path between them
to the Atlantic lapping in eternal rhythm.
My artist mind brushes clouds on the horizon,
blending sky with the water's line.
I find you there sprawled on a blanket
smelling of coconut, defying the Big C
as you bake brown. My sandy foot nudges
yours and rasps you awake. We trudge
the path and shower by the porch.
After lunch we sleep together in Walker's bed.
---Glenda Council Beall, from Now Might as Well Be Then, published by Finishing Line Press