Summer at the Shore, circa 1950
by Elayne Clift
...after the watercolour by Hamid Saadati

After many a summer on the beach,
I still remember being Seaside.
I remember driving every Sunday to the ocean,
Three of us competing for the window seat.
I remember the hot sun, the umbrella and beach chairs,
The serenade of cold white waves cresting noisily,
Before we can jump over them.

I remember French fries with malt vinegar in paper cups,
Saltwater Taffy, and ice cream vendors in white,
Walking barefoot in the sand, ice boxes slung over their shoulders.
I remember getting a splinter on the boardwalk, and limping to dinner,
At Capt’n Stearn’s restaurant, after which we “walked the boards,”
Before heading home at sunset, and acknowledge that we are sunburnt.
It was a ritual for all the years of my growing up.

I still love being by the ocean every summer,
Book in hand, hearing the serenade again,
Walking the beach at water’s edge,
While watching the eternal waves roll in.
I revel in being lost in memories, eating French fries,
Soft ice cream, and seafood. But mostly,
I like being where the sun is hot, the smell of salt is in the air,
And a cool sea breeze envelops me before I walk the boards.



 

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