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Margo padded the pebbled beach

Gathering her thoughts like seashells

Not sure how far she’d come

The tang of Old Bay

Swept the sand, marking the dinner hour

Twelve lifeguard chairs ago

 

She traveled the coastline

A hundred times this season

Waiting for the ocean’s whisper

And waves

To shed misty tears and

Calm the land

 

Tasting the salt against her lips

She planted herself among the dunes

To harvest the horizon

For she was certain

Dusk painted a Picasso in the sky

Just for her

 

Lost in the curl of the waves

She missed the cries

Of winged panhandlers, circling above

Reminding her

She shouldered leftovers

In her pockets

 

As day slumped into

The granny apple sea

She tossed everything she carried

Into a tornado

Of feathers hovering below

A kaleidoscope of kites

 

Soon fall would creep in

Pushing forgotten toys and summer

Into the brine

Then the stars

Not the light of a ferris wheel

Would lead her home