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When The Dead Visit The Beach

in November our
dead walk the
streets and the fields
and the beaches. they wander
through places
they’ve been. and sulk
in the living emptiness.

like taking a stroll along
a beach in Winter, one
can almost hear the
distant echoes of Summers
long since past.

flocks of seagulls stare
at their empty silhouettes

i hope to live one day
along the Atlantic shores of
Georgia or North Carolina.
to sit alone, in the dead of
Winter, waiting for this
parade of lost ones.

to feel the bitter winds sweep
in from the black waters
and leak into the corners of my
house, pushing against windows,
creaking the old screen door, hoping
to find me. alone.

perhaps, on a November day
just like this, I could find a way
to have tea with a ghost. perhaps
for a moment, he’d feel alive,
as the hot drink slips through

what stories would he conjure…
what love would he mourn..

would he lean back into the
porch rocking chair, and cup his
hands around the steamy mug,
hoping to sense the warmth for
just moment? indeed, he would turn
to look at me, his eyes cold and
hallow, and he’d warn me to relish
every last drop. to never neglect
the sunrise. to never go a day
without enjoying a hot cup of tea on the
edge of our mighty Atlantic.

and then he is gone.
the chair, swaying.
his tea, savored and empty.


8 thoughts on “When The Dead Visit The Beach

  1. Cassiopeia Rises says:

    How wonderfully delicious and dark. Your words weave sorrowful images and I can feel the sting of the winter oceans hunted by these very dead. Beautiful work.


  2. Once upon a time, I lived along the northeast coast….how well you’ve described the sensation of walking along the beach during the winter…ghost and all. 😉

  3. The dead haunt the shore of that blue collective sigh that draws us all Michael – ebb and flow = life, death – and our time love – our time to feel the push and pull of both tides while trying to stand tall between.

    *gentle hug to you*


  4. perhaps, on a November day
    just like this, I could find a way
    to have tea with a ghost. perhaps
    for a moment, he’d feel alive,

    this spoke to me on such an intense level. Of course I do not know your vision for this write, but because of how tragically depressed I get in the winter, this set chills upon me. I cant explain it. I love this piece, its timeless and one of my faves so far. Thanks Michael.

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