In a big white house

Perched beside the Atlantic,

With tidal water

As the backyard,

That was the site

Of my childhood.

It’s where I could

Row a boat

Before I could

Ride a bicycle.

We timed the coming

And going of the tide,

As the inner harbor was

Our summer sandbox.

Lifting seaweed,

Combing eelgrass,

Searching tidepools,

And digging in the flats

Revealed crabs, minnows

And objects to keep

In milk-carton aquariums,

Until mom, acting like

The parole board for

The incarcerated locals,

Persuaded their release.

Sea glass, especially blue,

Along with shattered dishes & cups

Were treasures to horde.

On occasion, a lonely buoy

Or lost skiff would drift in.

That excitement was short-lived

As boat owners showed up

By the next high water,

Tossing appreciation

Over their shoulder

As they paddled away.

We loved the ducks,

Hated the herring gulls

And rarely sighted blackbacks.

And wharf rats would

Clear the swimming ledge

Of neighbor kids in seconds.

It’s where I learned:

To be curious, but careful,

To play nicely with others

(still working on that),

To navigate slippery rocks

And soft mud,

To swim,

To use an outhaul,

To make a Clorox bailer,

To care for boats

(as boats require lots of TLC),

And it’s where I learned that

Jellyfish are the

Butterflies of the ocean.

© 2025 Marginal Effort Publishing