Free

By Sara Kandler

A trip up to the Cape

in early July

preposterous

says Mom

August is the time

my dear

to gaggle on Ballston

haggle at the flea market

pant up the cliff at Longnook

But this trip feels different

because it is

forty years hence

no low picket fence

dissecting the dune

buoys slung over the back rail

outdoor shower

bodies wet and naked

stark tan lines

We’re bringing you back

as promised

that’s why

I whisper

an inn

a pilgrimage

clandestine mission

your wishes

Pack tee shirts

toiletries

a talisman

Nestle you together

mounds of gray powder

heavy as clay

of clay

We hike far enough

find the spot

immerse ourselves

release you

Dad sifts into the dashing waves

reflecting the setting sun

Mom swirls in the wind

paintbrushes poised

singing

spirits free

and what of us

of me?

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