Lorraine Ruocco

The Beach & I

I wake up to the view from my window,
which consists of deep blue waves and gray clouds.
Annoying sounds of my house disturbed me from my sleep.
The peaceful sounds of the beach
are what I would really like to wake me.
The house is loud, and seems crowded to me.
Wanting to be in a place on my own,
I think of the picture I woke up to
with the view of the ocean and warm gray clouds.
Should I go or stay?
The light breeze calls me,
telling me to come and join the comfort.
I grab my sunglasses, and leave quietly.
Still half asleep, the warm air doesn’t help.
It’s only there to make me more tired.
The walk is short, only ten steps to go.
Ten steps to go, without stepping on the rocks.
During the summer my feet become steel.
Walking from the beach to the house and back, barefoot,
at least five times a day, has strengthened them.
Mission accomplished, no stubbed toes.
Let’s go.
Still at the top stair, already feeling
the mist of the ocean. No, not really,
but I want to, I want to get my feet wet.
I’m on top of the sand now, and it’s so hot.
The hot sand. That’s what we used to call it,
we called it hot sand when we were little.
I dig my feet into the sand as I walk.
Now I can really feel the ocean mist.
Standing in the wet sand feels refreshing.
It’s almost as refreshing as the water.
My arms sway towards the water front quickly.
While standing still, I don’t move a muscle.
I feel like I’ll fall face-first in the sea,
but only if I let the wind take me.
I’m staying strong, I keep my feet stable.
They stay stuck under the wet sand, locked up.
They’re ironically glad to be locked up.
I’m glad to be away from everything.
Here, I have nothing to worry about.


Copyright 2002-2007 Student Publishing Program (SPP). Poetry and prose 2002-2007 by individual authors. Reprinted with permission. SPP developed and designed by Strong Bat Productions.