Beach Walk

by Pam Burr Smith

You walk with your sister,
On a warm blowy beach
sliding sand and bare feet.
Your sister, so much like you,
and so different.
A better walker, for sure.
She could stride forever, while you,
grateful along teeming shore,
stop to admire close sea birds
and marvel at low, muscular waves.
You are even inspired by delicate rivulets
and lowly, glistening seaweed.
You spout words, ask her to see with you.

Hey! Look at this!

She’s kind at first,
stops to share the viewing.
After a while, she can’t hear you
anymore. The waves pound. She’s
too far ahead. She’s counting steps.
Or maybe she’s just tired of looking
at everything. Her goal, a rocky bluff,
is still a mile down the beach.
So you start to talk to your own feet
those faithful dancers, and to the air,
its salty soft breath inspires you
with wonder too strong to pass by,
wonder too strong to be silent.