I’m Sitting in Bed, Writing. {Poem}

I’m sitting in bed, writing.

Next door, they’re karaoke-ing to Jethro Tull.

Leftover scent of their charred BBQ mixed with ocean air, wafting through the cottage.

Their garage is a living room; all are welcome.

Their driveway is a soccer field with no scoreboard.

Last night, one of the kids kicked the ball into our front patio. Goal!

They saw us pulling the surfboards out.

I promised to take the girls tomorrow.

You need some wax for those?


The “mayor” came over and painted the boards,

While his son gave us tips on the currents.

The homeless woman rode by with her life on her back:

Don’t eat too much sugar and make sure to take pictures with you in them, too, so your great-grandkids can see your face!

Some people get paid millions because they give that advice, but she gave it to us for free.

This is life at the beach.

It’s an easy life that isn’t effortlessly found.

People who live here,

They made the hard decisions first.

The morning fog, the seagull’s serenade and the pink sunsets:

A daily reminder of their courage to create a new reality.


As we walked back inside,

Ruby lifted her leg:

Mommy, my feet are black on the bottom, look!

Black feet and sandy hair, that all washes off,

But regret of a dream unmet,

Stains forever.





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