We tried to see where our fathers were,
as we were standing in the mud of the beach,
and I would have taken your hand
but that seemed too intimate.
Your father and his ship at that time
was somewhere at the Mediterranean,
mine at the Baltic, but we were convinced
we could see them there, over the dark blue
of the North Sea, as some ships were passing by.

We waved, you and me. You called for your father.
He shall bring me a doll, so you said.
I could not say I was looking forward
to seeing him again, he was not even a memory.
Like all things in nature, the fathers came and went
and there was no telling when.
Our feet had sunk in the mud so we freed them
and we ran back to the towels and arms of our mothers,
their red bathing suits as reliable beacons.

Comments on: "When we were three and four" (8)

  1. Lovely poem Ina. Reflective, and a little melancholy. And also got an image of the vastness of the sand and sea by the last line:) L&H xx

  2. must have been difficult as a child

    • No not really πŸ™‚ But I suppose it is different if you have a father who is home every day. Not sure πŸ™‚

  3. *Big Smile*

    David
    xxx

  4. Wonderful, Ina! This would make a lovely short story, I think. XO

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