A Poem for Sarah,

We climb from the waves,
brown and stiff
never brushing our hair
and calling ourselves warriors
conquerors of seas.
We snicker to ourselves
about the heritage we have discovered
of Atlantian blood.

Some question the value of salt water
we know its good for the soul.
It creeps into bones
through our developing wrinkles.
Laying out sweet and satisfied,
Drying like prunes.
Drying like sand.
Drying like towels.

We are the wild hair and wicked eyes
of the beach
and for each other.

We are the whip of the moment.
The snap,
crackle,
pop.
We think about scavenging for sustenance.
But for now the sun is too wonderful,
and we are too blessed.