Roswila's Dream & Poetry Realm

SEE ALSO: TRYING TO HOLD A BOX OF LIGHT (photos, realistic to abstract)

Wednesday, July 04, 2007


Brighton Beach Boardwalk, (c) Lesha 2004,


Decades have passed since I last
traced this shoreline.
Restaurants now bear chic names
and umbrellas over their trendy outdoor
tables, where memory holds out for crowded
bars and Jewish delis opening on the boardwalk,
awash in aromas of beer and knishes.

I am startled to find the old wooden
steps down to the beach buried in the sand,
only the top curve of railing still beckoning,
a beginning that is its own ending.

While the beach itself has narrowed
with the years, even as I have expanded,
both ocean and my shadow claiming
more territory, like the sand packed
beneath the boardwalk burying that dark
cave we teenagers retreated to ....

that underground I entered, grasping
after the brass ring in a life spinning
rapidly out of control, as I drank too much
and necked with one guy or another
in the boardwalk’s shadows ....

With one heavy sigh I accept that the cave
and its shadows have been laid to rest, slowly
and surely, gracefully and not, with the passing
of season after season.

I sit on a bench to rest my aging knees, giving
way gratefully to the immediacy of light
and heat, to this moment of clear
skies and all-embracing seas.

Sometimes it is good
to be faced with good-bye.

* * * *

This poem is just short of 11 years old (revised since then, and today before posting), so it is entirely possible that the buried steps and filled-in walk space underneath the boardwalk have long since been cleared. Even so, what the poem addresses for me remains as true as the day I first drafted it. I had participated in a Labor Day poetry reading on the boardwalk by Coney Island -- which is just a walk down the way from Brighton Beach. After the reading, I decided to stroll to Brighton Beach, not having visited it in probably almost 30 years.The photo above is recent, taken looking toward Coney Island. The section of Brighton Beach I reference in the poem is to the viewer's back. Unfortunately, Coney Island, too, is rapidly becoming a memory. But what memories! The rides, the games, the food! I especially cherish my memories of Steeplechase, for instance.

Hope your holiday is a happy, healthy, and safe one.

* * * *

‘til next time, keep dreaming,


[aka: Patricia Kelly]

****If you wish to copy or use any of my writing or poems, please email me for permission (under “View my complete profile”)****My other blogs ROSWILA’S TAROT GALLERY & JOURNAL and ROSWILA’S TAIGA TAROT.

Labels: , ,


Post a Comment

Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]

<< Home