the beach by margaret boles
i seem to remember
we kept ourselves
amused for hours
on the beach
when we weren’t
building sandcastles or
skimming stones across
the water, we were
walking along the shore
paddling ankle-deep
in the briny water
sometimes we sat
against the rocks and
read or knitted
(just like mummy did)
and when daddy was there
we could go for a swim
we wouldn’t have dreamed
of saying, we’re bored, i guess
we knew my mother
thirsted all winter
to be at the beach