Vacations always begin with “We’re here”
and ends with “Home.”
If it’s done right,
the drive home will be
as exhausting as saying “Goodbye.”
I wanted a black sea shell,
a bag of white sand scooped
right off the back dock
to put in a flower pot to plant
cigarette butts and pens,
and a t-shirt. I got a t-shirt,
a bag of sand, and a fistful
of beautiful memories
where no black sea shells
were to be found.
The initial departure,
down the drive made of crushed
shells mixed with something else
coloring them all grey,
pulling onto the asphalt
considering one last glance back
while pressing the accelerator
or pulling the throttle hard
and speeding away like there’s something
to escape from just behind us,
and I will have you know
I cherished the tear streak
on my cheek, even
to the moment I washed
it off my face and blamed
loving wind to the marrow.
Don’t forget to tell them,
these people whom you love,
that you love them all, that
I’ll gladly break a dictionary family
for this, redefine the bonds
that hold us all together -
it’s something more like
the sea shore.
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