_________ 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.
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