by Jane Lang

I bought a clock for you the first day, in a small
shop behind a bakery wafting tantalizing
scents of decadence and sugar…no chocolate
for me, I'm more a caramel person, and
apple fritters call my name

We had docked at a small marina in a cozy
seaside part of Canada, large by its name.
Painted murals on nearly all the outside
walls, mostly a concrete of some type,
many brightly-colored wooden benches

The clock was brass, shaped like the wheel of our
old boat. It sat on the cherry-wood, smooth ledge
above the TV in this new boat, spanned the length
of the salon. You were pleased—we stayed three
nights as I recall—not once did I cook a meal

When we left, after lines were stowed, fenders in
I looked back at the small town with the large name
I knew I'd remember it—the salt air tang, murals,
sun-drenched sand as well as gulls as they
circled, called, dived


Return to:

[New] [Archives] [Join] [Contact Us] [Poetry in Motion] [Store] [Staff] [Guidelines]