It was my favorite

I always dreamed of being able to see the ocean
from this kitchen window
while the bacon sizzled.

The last summer we gathered on the bluff
this was the view.

I will remember this tiny galley space
full of friends
grabbing for pots and pans
reaching behind the dish washer
who was sudsing away at the old porcelain sink…

criss-crossing some other arm
in search of a knife for the cheese plate…

and the two of us who were wrangling the lid
on the about-to-boil lobster pot
which took up three of the four burners on the little stove…

leaning to one side
as the screen door came banging in
and one or other of the urchins came flying by…

after being told to fetch the bug spray
for those who were re-applying after showers
and a day at the beach.

If you were standing in that kitchen
looking out this window
and turned to your right…
you would be enlisted as the “passer”.

The sliding window
opened to the sun porch
was the pass through for the ones
who were charged with setting the table…

and relaying drink orders
and hurrying the cooks along…

as the hungry beach stragglers
who had done the breakfast service
were seated at the long blue benches.

So many meals,
so much laughter
some dancing
and not a few kisses…

we just simply lived love
in that space.

When first I visited this camp
on the bluff
at the edge of the world
there were six.

The most perfectly weighted
richly glazed
smoothly worn
ceramic mugs.

They aged with us
but even with a crack or chip or two
I could happily lose myself
in that deep marine indigo cave.

At the end
there was one
alone to remember…

with the patina
of all those morning hands…

the whispers of our days
lived by the sea.