Montauk Poems

Anticipating Montauk

the quiet sand dogs lie

muffled

beneath the porch

so still

no one, not one, not even

i

notice them

there.

all year we saved,

snuggle bunnies that we are,

for this sand and that sea

for strawberries and vodka

and seven sexual fantasies 

all tangled-up in salty sheets.

all night the surf 

all night and all day and

all days

even when we are far away

even when otherwise concerned

the surf

and the surfer bird perched on the roof. 

Montauk in Late December

It’s hard to stay

blue

around here, this time of year.

The sun,

pushed to the southern horizon,

weary with winter,

does her best

as slate colored clouds and translucent white mists slip and slide 

every which way.

The sun hip-hops between cracks in the layers of gray, 

while white winds howl in triumph,

as if remembering a long-ago ice age.

Sand stings our eyes as, 

bent into the cold,

we walk 

with our tough little beach dog

into January.

These two poems were written soon after the passing of Reggie, “the tough little beach dog” referenced above.

Remembering Reggie 1

Low tide

Sand bars 

I take off my shoes, walk in the water

Sand between toes

Towing the line is exhausting

I zig-zag through the sand

Walking nowhere, feeling at home 

Where the dunes meet the waves

Where the gulls gather to philosophize

Where our little dog used to run

Where I, with my aching feet, can no longer run

Where the sun sizzles into the sea

Every evening

We walk 

I miss him

Hold your hand 

And keep walking.

Remembering Reggie 2

Another day of sun and surf 

Ends with a grilled steak

And cold vodka

Ends with an empty couch where he used to dig a nest and fall asleep

Ends with not having to take him out

Ends without his head resting on my leg

But then again,

I don’t believe in endings.