Email Poem

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Poem


I learned to smile with grit in my teeth,
as I watched the waves, come in, and go out. 
They made a hollow in the sand,
left behind when the tide rushed out. 
For whom is this hole?

I dip in the hole to swim, treading water,
kicking just enough, to keep
my nose and head, 
just above the water, breathing.
To whom does this head belong?

I walk in the footprints left in the sand 
by someone walking at dawn, 
avoiding the long steps made 
by a jogger running on their toes. 
By whom were these prints made?
 
I call out to the gulls and terns
that pass by, calling their cries out to me.
They look back puzzled, that anyone
could be so rude, to imitate them.
To whom were these calls made?

The wind is strong and so instant,
It blows sand and spray in my face.
It mats my hair, stings my eyes,
and coats my whole body with salt.
From whom does this salt-shaker belong?

I throw a ball into the surf for a dog, 
that came up with ball in its mouth.
It crashed valiantly through the waves,
returning half choked with sand grit stuck
between its teeth, and tongue lagging to one side.
For whom did I throw this ball?

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