Linda Drattell

French Fries, Ketchup, and Motor Boats

                                                                 I never thought I would miss my hometown

or the fifty-cent bus ride 

to the white sands of Jones Beach 

we met friends 

at the designated lifeguard stand 

salt and stray strands of seaweed 

in our hair

we crowded tables at the beachfront diner

pressed shoulders 

shivered in wet bathing suits

smeared ketchup on our fries

a taste I can no longer separate 

from my memory of the ocean’s spray

                                                                 I never thought I would miss the marina 

where our father took us 

for spins across the tide in the Runabout 

catching reflections on broken blue glass

inhaling the freshness of caught fish 

sitting on the bow and wading ashore

to gather wild blackberries 

in winter our father drydocked the boat 

set us to work applying putty 

to cracks in the hull 

stood nearby and watched 

asked if his face was weather-beaten 

enough to impress Hemingway

                                                                 I never thought I would miss the motorboat

my brother bought 

though I seldom rode in it 

watched him grow 

navigate life 

as he stood at the helm 

and conquered the waves

                                                                 I never thought I would miss the universe’s voice

since Harpocrates embraced me— 

easy access to friendship

emotional closeness 

sharing of opinions 

chattering 

all now require much effort 

these days I live far from the beach 

far from people 

even when I’m near them 

then someone smiles 

with the warmth of my hometown— 

tells me repeating a comment is no trouble at all