ANNY ON THE BEACH.
Posted: January 31st, 2011, 8:26 am
It is a summer’s day, mid August, and
You sit in a deckchair looking out to
Sea, your youngest child and grandchildren are
Playing on the beach, some tiptoeing in
The incoming tide, others are building
Sandcastles if the wet sands permit, and
There, suddenly, to one side is Anny
Horowitz, standing watching in her dark
Ghostly 1930s clothes, wanting, you
Feel, to join in, but she looks back at you,
Knowing the others cannot see her, with
Her blue eyes, pushing her small hand through her
Blonde hair, looking at you with that young girl
Innocent stare. You sit forward about
To mouth words, but she turns way, watching
The children at play, walking the narrow
Parameter of their games and castle,
Sensing their joyousness, their laughter, her
Phantom 1930s shoes leaving no
Footprints in the damp sands, no mark, no sign.
You get up and walk down to where she treads
Her slow circular path, always gazing
Inward, a smile shyly lingering on
Her lips. You stand a few paces away.
You go to speak, but what to say? Words fail
You, you stand and stare, watch her briefly as
She moves about; she sings, but the words are
Carried off in the wind away away,
Then she’s gone, just you and your youngest child
And your grandchildren on the beach at play.
You sit in a deckchair looking out to
Sea, your youngest child and grandchildren are
Playing on the beach, some tiptoeing in
The incoming tide, others are building
Sandcastles if the wet sands permit, and
There, suddenly, to one side is Anny
Horowitz, standing watching in her dark
Ghostly 1930s clothes, wanting, you
Feel, to join in, but she looks back at you,
Knowing the others cannot see her, with
Her blue eyes, pushing her small hand through her
Blonde hair, looking at you with that young girl
Innocent stare. You sit forward about
To mouth words, but she turns way, watching
The children at play, walking the narrow
Parameter of their games and castle,
Sensing their joyousness, their laughter, her
Phantom 1930s shoes leaving no
Footprints in the damp sands, no mark, no sign.
You get up and walk down to where she treads
Her slow circular path, always gazing
Inward, a smile shyly lingering on
Her lips. You stand a few paces away.
You go to speak, but what to say? Words fail
You, you stand and stare, watch her briefly as
She moves about; she sings, but the words are
Carried off in the wind away away,
Then she’s gone, just you and your youngest child
And your grandchildren on the beach at play.