The Last Night at the Ocean

We waited many long nights since February
to feel the pulse of the ocean in our truest bodies;

the energy that conquers all time
and clears the mildew and rust
of sitting still for too long.

We happily waited through the snow and constant ice of New England
to nearly burn our feet bronze on the sand on a day just like today.

The color of our skin is no longer the white of enamel.
Our shoulders might even be caramelized brown as butter and sugar
and smooth as a polished stone near this sandy shore.

Tonight, on the last night at the ocean, we begin to pack ourselves up
for the long trip back to the life of mowing grass, pulling weeds,
piles of laundry, electric bills, writing daily rhymes,
and making the bed
as if order can be gathered
in the cool comfort of sheets.

On this last night at the edge of the salty water in Saco
we listen to explosions off shore of the boardwalk
and feel the echos of the independence we feel
each time we come to rest here.

We know here, if no place else,
we are free for a little while.