i held robin's baby
while her son (my step-son) and his father played
in the atlantic

suntan lotion and hot dogs
and saltwater taffy--
where are the redwoods and
where are the silent soaring gulls and bent sea grass
where the wind
and the gray crashing sea

these east coast beaches are not the same
are populated with small countries claimed
by towel, umbrella, sandals, coolers,
and beach chairs filled with middle aged misty eyed me's,
our fat cheeked bottoms sandy and chaste
but that's okay
they used to be chased
and now it's time to rest

i held the baby in the merry-go-round afternoon
and watched the wanna be's try to surf
in the small, irregular, crabbish waves
and thought of the pacific
and the green tumbling surf
where the sea lions bob offshore
waiting for us to go home

the baby was thin and hungry
nuzzled at my empty breasts
betrayed and bedazzled by the plump promise
empty promises

"robin, your baby is hungry"

"oh i am tired of feeding her!
i feel like a cow
never liked babies anyhow"

i rocked the baby that isn't mine
and thought of all the times
i have fed her son
meat loaf roasted lamb lasagna
eggplant asparagus
fruit crisp broccoli rice
and the turnips (yellow) that he loves
then he goes home to his other house
fortified and beloved

but today at the beach
i have nothing to give his sister
but a sympathetic shoulder

the breeze carries the sound of laughter and gulls
and i smile with the knowledge of just Who
i always Am
and it's suddenly all okay

a shelter and a meal
a shoulder to lay your weary head
someone to put you to bed
a nurturer, a lover
a temporary mother

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