The Beach

Isabella
on the shore,
stands wanting,
alone,
barefoot.
The ocean
fills the space
between her toes.
Her flowered dress,
thin cotton,
changes color as
the dipping sun sets
the world ablaze.

The wind
grows cool as
the evening courts
the shoreline.
Her skin
tightens
from its caress.
She rubs her arms
for warmth.

In the distance,
children are playing,
running,
towels 'round their necks;
heroes they will be -
to someone,
someday.

She watches the ocean
as it deposits trophies at
her feet.
Some new.
Some old.
Like her, all
forgotten.

Feverishly,
she reaches for the sky to
pull a memory from mist
a feeling from the wind.
Any feeling at all.
Nothing.

She waits,
heart pounding,
eye's filling with sand
and water.
Nothing comes.
Only more waves lapping
at her feet.
Then she realizes,
her obsessions have
become cumbersome.
And today,
is just another day
at the beach.

Michael Lorne Leard
(Published in Carousel Magazine)