Once

Once

I had not opened the bottom drawer
Of my old desk since moving
17 years before.

But it was packing time,
Again a move, 400 miles north
And the movers wouldn't load until
All was boxed, sealed tight.

"Oh," I gasped, lifting the tattered address book
Up into the light. The cover's picture
That Georgia seaside town with
Its lighthouse beaming took me back to then.

The iron gate, fence circling round, he had swung wide for me,
Clanked shut as we walked away, on toward the sea,
The Atlantic's relentless waves washing at the shore.

He held my hand that day.
All so quiet inside my heart
Nothing rushing or rumbling in on me.

We lingered at the rocky remnants of a wall,
Three steps proceeding down, disappearing
Below a mix of foamy surf

While gulls called and called above our heads
Our bodies soaking up long years of summer sun
Our four feet dangling, kicking at the world
Unable to hold off the ebbing, incoming tide.