Seaside at Eighty by Karen Kelsay

Photo by Karen Kelsay

We’ll breakfast at Las Brisas when we’re gray,
Discussing all our commonalities
And differences, admiring the breeze.
We’ll chatter and remark about the way

The rocking eucalyptus branches seem
To hammock threads of morning sun along
The coast. Pale clouds will sift to butter-cream
And melon, swimming through a blue sarong

Of tinctured sky. I’ll scan the beach and sea
Where I once played in tide pools as a child,
And you will say: The waves are much more mild
On Devon’s shore, I really miss Torquay.

I’ll point to where the purple mussel shells
Are found, then Catalina’s outline might
Appear beyond the shoals of blue-green swells.
We’ll venture down the path and look for white

Sails cutting southward, tilting toward the shore
Where long ago we bathed and sunned before;
And like two cockle halves worn from the weather,
We’ll linger by the oceanfront together.

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To read Karen’s bio and more of her verse on WIZ go here, here, here, here, and here.

2 thoughts on “Seaside at Eighty by Karen Kelsay”

  1. Ought we, for the Americans, to point out that “Torquay” is pronounced “Tor-key”?

    While I’m in comparison mode, this made me think of a hopeful Robert Browning in his middle age still companioned by Elizabeth and dreaming mildly for a change. In addition to the poetic compliment, that says volumes about your marriage.

    Like

  2. 😦 I want it to be pronounced Tor-Kay. 😀
    I read this and look forward to this season of my life. And I love how you make clear in your verse the sense of oneness, in spite of difference… the worry over differences has worn away with time, like those cockle halves.

    Like

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