The Beach

The Beach
Maeengan Linklater
Wednesday August 31, 2005

When I’m back home,
There’s a place I like to go,
It’s a beach – my beach.

I’m alone.

I collect firewood,
Scattered along the shore,
And, I make a pile.

Underneath, that wood,
I place kindling,
Birch bark skin,
I make a fire.

I take off my shoes,
Dip my feet in sand,
Sand rubs between toes,
Gentle scratching.

Across the lake,
Sun sets underneath,
Over the horizon,
Disappearing warmth,
As twilight creeps in.

The fire keeps me warm.

I think about good times.

Swimming with my cousins,
When we were kids,
Spending hours in the water.

Parties as we got older,
Passed out in the bush,
When we had too much to drink.

My marriage ceremony,
Traditional with invited spirits,
Of my ancestors,
Speaking to the little boy drum.
I have memories,
Of that beach.

The fire brings them back,
When I’m back home.