By: Ann Christine Tabaka
The night dances in on a purple sunset
edged in radiant streams of gold.
The evening star winks seductively
at the shy rising moon.
The sound of the surf’s eternal march
echoes across the dunes,
carried on a salt breeze.
Castles and footprints forgotten,
soon to be washed away.
Sea oats wave adieu to the light,
as sand crabs scurry home
to their sandy dens.
Silhouettes of egrets flock overhead,
marsh-bound for the night.
signaling the time for
The smell of bread baking,
and strong laundry soap,
it clung to her like perfume.
Faced scrubbed clean,
hands red and labor rough,
the smile of an angel.
that sweet tune as she did.
No one left to call out her name,
she preferred it that way, after
years of neglect and abuse.
She gave all she had to give,
and we took it in turn.
How I miss that dear woman today.
Painted sails in the wind, trailing
colorful dreams in their wake.
Rings around the sun. Sights
of the imagination singing
back to me in a soft voice.
Brisk salt breeze ripping
through my damp hair. The
scent of brine filling my head.
Sand crusted limbs. Sun burnt
toes. Sound of gulls overhead.
Off in the distance the shoreline
vanishes into rows of dune grass,
as billowy clouds float by.
stimulating the senses, as
painted sails glide by.
Daybreak pierces night, wiping
away the sleep. Plucking stars
from the heavens, placing them
neatly in a basket made of dreams.
Erasing darkness with amber
streaks, the sun kisses the day.
Dew drenched grasses glisten with
diminutive prism globes. Warmth
overtakes the chill as hours march on.
Clouds drift by announcing their
presence with purple shadows
crowning the land. Time has no
master while light rules the day.
Evening brings with it a daunting
stillness as it invades the glen.
A sleepy day says adieu as it
awaits tomorrow’s sun salutation.
Flying by the window of time,
seeking truth. Lurking in hidden
passages, susurrations follow.
Apparitions haunt the shadows
of the imagination.
There are no more wishes,
the stars have all gone dark.
Pain swallowed the night.
So, escape the day.
Flee for the night, never look
back. Run towards the darkness
that harbors the silence.
The deep ache of quiet that
floods the senses, battling turmoil
with calm. Future becomes past as
infinity dangles just out of reach.
Quote my words today,
For tomorrow does not exist!
Ann Christine Tabaka has been nominated for the Pushcart Prize in Poetry, has been internationally published, and won poetry awards from numerous publications.
She lives in Delaware, USA. She loves gardening and cooking. Chris lives with her husband and three cats.
Her most recent credits are: Pomona Valley Review, Page & Spine, West Texas Literary Review, The Hungry Chimera, Sheila-Na-Gig, Synchronized Chaos; Pangolin Review, Trigger Fish Critical Review, Foliate Oak Review, Better Than Starbucks!, Mused, The Write Launch, The Stray Branch, The McKinley Review; Fourth & Sycamore.
Contact her at firstname.lastname@example.org
Ann Christine Tabaka – Pushcart Prize in Poetry Nominee
Instagram: #christinetabaka #annchristinetabaka /