time on the shore
On this Father’s Day, I remember times spent with my dad.
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When I was a kid, he would take us to the shore near Port Maitland, Nova Scotia, to look for chunks of iron pyrite (fool’s gold) in the rocks.
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time on the shore
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1.
spit of sand
grains in an hourglass
poured through gaps
in a cobble sea
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2.
waves advance
try to tangle me
wash me, turn me
like a sea-smooth stone
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but I know about tides
I move myself inland
each hour
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3.
he watched whales blow here
saw sea horses dance
filled his pockets with sea glass
pitied the sandpiper
sprinkling tracks the waves erase
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I hear the hiss of air
the echoing wail
small stallions prance on my toes
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I close my eyes
forget to move
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4.
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he takes us prospecting
we wedge into crevasses
keen for pyrite gold
cube within cube
embedded in stone
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we always forget the hammer
we chip and scratch with fingernails
reach across rock
dare the waves
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a sanderling cries
quit quit!
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6.
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shorebirds
befriend me
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a dowitcher sews a seam with her bill
bastes salt water to shore
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the sanderling shoos back the tide
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terns
plunge into the ocean
and complain they are wet
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Published as: ‘Time on the Shore’, Canadian Stories 16 (89), February/March 2013
Part of manuscript ‘mnemonic‘ winner of the Alfred G. Bailey Prize, Writers’ Federation of New Brunswick 2016 Writing Competition
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Copyright Jane Tims 2017
nichepoetryandprose 
That’s great, Jane. Great for father’s day, too. Nice choice.
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rogermoorepoet
June 18, 2017 at 8:56 pm