Produced by Maine Poetry Central and Dennis Camire
This week’s poem is by Bruce Spang, the former poet laureate of Portland. His most recent book is “Boy at the Screen Door” by Moon Pie Press.
The Swim
By Bruce Spang
My mother told me years ago that when the time came
she’d like to swim out into the ocean, swim out until
nothing was left but the sea, the sea and herself.
Now at 98, her cane skitters ahead of her
as if no longer beholden to terra firma. The sea,
whatever lure it had, comes in and goes out waving
like an old friend who misses her and, in the manner
of faded photographs — has her knee-deep in surf
at Jones Beach. Waves nip at her. In 1938, she could
swim for hours on a hideaway for honeymooners.
Each summer the lure of it brought her back to take us,
her two boys, to spend days leaping over waves,
holding her hand, Jump, jump, the surf tickling our feet.
Any wonder that I want some days, obedient to its call,
to take her to the water’s edge, to hold her hand
as she held mine and let her lean in and the water
welcome her as someone who has not forgotten,
her graceful stroke carries her over one,
then another wave, until she’s far out
and stops, treading water, looking back
waves at me, then turns and swims into herself.
Dennis Camire can be reached at denniscamire@hotmail.com
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