Where the bay water licks
At the rough and shell-filled shore
There are memories of days
When my childhood hours were spent
With cousins who taunted
And brothers who followed suit
Days when summer's sun caused red skin
Before we knew that the sun was not our friend.
Those were days when family gathered
To share the afternoon of lazing
When Dad would paddle his canoe
Like a great Indian warrior
Across the shallow places
Where the spider crabs sought out our toes.
Sunday lunches of peanut butter and jelly
Sandwiches with as much sand as jelly
Collections of tiny hermit crabs who poked out
Only to swiftly retreat
And hunts for camouflaged sand crabs
That burrowed into the sides of the holes we'd dig
Weary and tired with salt stained skin
We would wander to our homes
And prepare a meal to share in Grandma's backyard.
~Kathleen Beebe Waygood