The Summer I was Three
by Gloria Bennett


_________ For: Perry Ludlam, my grandfather

I’ll always remember
my grandfather
the way he was
at Mexico Beach,
the summer I was three.

Far from shore,
the salty spray
plastered dark ringlets
to my tiny forehead,
partially obscuring my view
of the shoreline.

I could taste bitter salt
as it clung to my lips,
and waves crashed
all around me.

He lifted me high
on sturdy shoulders,
where I knew no harm
could come to me.

We were at Mexico Beach,
it was summer,
and I was three.

Years later,
no longer a child, I sit
with him under shade trees
still standing in his yard.

I wrap a quilt around
frail shoulders, made
weak by the passage of time

and taste the bitter salt
as my tears reach my lips.







Copyright 2018 by Red River Review. First Rights Reserved. All other rights revert to the authors.
No work may be reproduced or republished without the express written consent of the author.