DEPARTURE

I saw a gangly ten year-old
In a floppy GI hat,
Clinging to the tall, iron-greyed guy
In crisp shirt and shorts
Whose hat it must
One day have been.

Kissing the cotton of his shirt.
Then locked in embrace,
Her thin arms not stretching
Around his waist.

He bends down and smothers
Her wiry hair in love.

She can’t let go,
Already knowing the anguish
Of parting. . . of missing.

Gently, he breaks
The embrace and walks,
Determined-but-aching,
To his pickup.

She stands on the rocks,
Blowing incessant kisses
With both hands,
Frantically, vainly,
In his direction,
All that's left
Of the connection,
Just now still close.

No tears, though,
Like he had taught her.

He clicks the engine on. . .
Doesn’t gun it . . .
Blows her one last double-barreled kiss,
And quietly rolls out of sight.

She keeps on double-handing her farewells
Right and left and right again,
Forlornly,
Till he’s long gone.

Only then does she crumple.
She knows he didn’t want to see her tears.

The woman, who’s been standing aside,
Moves to enfold her with silent compassion . . .
Maybe with some guilt? . ..

The youngster squats on a rock,
a measured distance from the older companion.
Staring wet-eyed out to sea,
Communing with the gulls,
And the distant dolphins,
The scud clouds,
The vastness.

They sit there in their silences.

Betimes, the woman rises,
Takes the girls limp hand,
And walks her over to
A school group learning
About the sea and the sand,
And the fish and the birds.

More Poems from the Beach