Nairn Poem by Jack Oates
Nairn
Warily, then, she reaches the edge;
her trousers rolled in perfect folds.
Her long limbs the pallor of teacups.
Steely sea meets a flinty sky.
She tests with a toe.
We laugh along
when she registers her surprise
that the polar melt
has bitten her well-tended feet.
The saturated sand borrows her impression,
softened by her joy.
But then,
with reluctance,
it gives her back to the waves.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
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5/3/2024 8:29:57 PM # 1.0.0.1119
