Tim Cremin
Behold Your Ocean
Mitzi, come see what I picked up this morning—a tiny folding chair, for a doll or small child. Can you believe someone was throwing this out? Yes, I know it’s broken, but we can fix it. We’ll fix it up and put it in the children’s play area in the garden. Of course I know there aren’t any children here, but children may come. And wouldn’t it be nice to have some playthings for them—small furniture and such—to spark their imaginations? Just think, Mitzi, the sound of children playing—hopscotch and hide-and-go-seek and games you make up as you go along, games that never end till Mother calls you in for supper but by now you’re perched in a tree that sways like the mast of a ship as you behold your ocean below. Mother calls again but still you linger, lest the spell be broken.
golden hour
milkweed seeds
on the float
the sun drops
to eye-level
About the Author
Tim Cremin is a high school math teacher in Massachusetts. His poetry has appeared in many journals, including Acorn, bottle rockets, Failed Haiku, Frogpond, Mayfly, Modern Haiku, The Heron’s Nest, and tinywords. His collection of haiku, senryu, tanka, haibun, and haiga, “Watching a Candle by Candlelight,” is available from Red Moon Press