the winters wind in wakefield
whispered in my ears
as my best friend and i walked
up and down the rocky beach.
pink is my favorite color,
so we picked up all the rose rocks
we could find.
we stood over the stones
admiring their marbled complexions.
the beach was empty–
save for a lonely young girl and a strange man–
so we wandered towards the
the abandoned huts stood on
wooden beams, holding them strong.
many of the windows were boarded up
with “for sale” signs
and I recalled my childhood
of living by the sea.
my friend and i collected nine rocks that day.
-in rhode island, i felt alive again.