TITLE: Bonnie's Beach
By Roberta Franklin
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It is a blessing for me to be able to share these times with my friend who lost her daughter Jill in an accident. We have celebrated for almost twenty years.
I sit and watch the sands shift softly
round the shells she gathered there,
the driftwood poised to float away, or yet to cosset in and stay
contained within memories purse.
The dearth and joy of Januarys
spent in celebration,walking beaches wild and stormy,
remembering her daughter Jill and my son Scott.
Too much we both have lost, such grievous cost
to mother's hearts and arms. Yet still
I hear the pounding far away.
My heart and hers conjoined.
We know that sea, and earth, and time,
so recklessly abandoned by a choice, or chance
have left we wandering women the eyes to see another shore.
We watch for more reminders
of what used to be and pick them up,
save them in our beach,
or in a bucket for another time.
Counting grains of shells made sand,
knowing what we know.
Our God never lost a one
and what we look back upon
is ever present in His heart,
upon His palm, and underneath the shadow of His wing.
And so we walk along our beach
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