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.