by Pam Newham
I’m thankful I’ve learned to love a beach.
Not that holiday sunscreen smell of warm
coconut type of love.
But the walking in misty drizzle
when rough seas have strewn
the sand with abandoned tackies
and hubbard squash
and dogforsaken Frisbees.
That winterday beach
where salty layers of kelp lie heaped
torn from the unfathomable deep.