Chautauqua: Nights On The Beach
I.
Chautauqua’s tiny hills, stone steps;
branches arch over. A child’s chapel
keeps meditative exploration
sacred in me, my small figure
carrying a raft towards a big clock
on the beach.
I like when night starts in, makes
views hard; my parents squint to see me
scamper over grass in distance. Always,
I submit, running back to them.
II.
I compare my inflated raft to clouds. Feels like
I lift a sky like blankets
under little fingers, striped shirt.
III.
Bathroom under the looming clock. I drop
my new stuffed bear in a toilet
by accident. Pull him out; run
away.
| Lee Boyle |
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