Martins River, 2018
Church bells to lean against;
Cape Islanders, sailboats, and dories
in reunion before me.
You, silver-winking in your delight
with the lot of it: with the purple house
and the teal one next door;
with the boats and their sleep nodding prows;
with the masts trying to reach you;
with the gulls who play tag with you;
with the syncopated pealing of carillons;
with the lemon rhubarb scone
that is the taste of every springtime color
and a sticky hum of summer’s freedom.
I don’t bother with a napkin
even though my fingers
are lightly tacky with delicious.
At best, maybe
that is what awe and wonder are…
Not the experience itself,
but what remains
to allow us to enter into,
to open out onto,
over and still again.
—Kimberly M. King, RSCJ—