Joan’s Voices
I am Decadence. Pure Indulgence.
I went to the beach today. Again.
When it is beach season in Carolina,
the sea calls like Joan of Arc’s voices.
I cannot resist the beckoning.
I cannot wait to get there.
The sound of wave echoes my own heartbeat.
The air on the salt breeze matches my breath.
Monday afternoon, and all the world
is at their work. Except me,
and the few other hedonists who
dot the sand.
I watch the babies as they chase the gulls.
Little arms raised high and flapping
Like the very wings they pursue.
They never catch them, but it never occurs to them,
that they won’t.
At what age, I wonder,
do we stop believing we can catch birds?
Back home, I shower.
There is enough sand on the porcelain
to build a German castle.
Well, a Swiss chalet.
A little shed, then.
I am so full.
Whatever else happens in my life,
I have had today.
But the voices that might have been Joan’s
tell me that tomorrow,
there will be plenty of birds to chase.
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