a walk on the beach

His hand swings absently alongside mine,

As the sand gives way beneath our feet.

The sound of children laughing drowned –

Distant crashing of waves upon the shore.

A mother’s feeble and half-hearted attempts

To scold, to chase, to apprehend,

Fade to the sharp wind.

I want to tell him how much I love him.

I dare not.

His profile is sharp, as the wind –

Proud and unreadable.

My chest



My hand reached hesitantly towards his.

Our fingertips brush

He slackens his pace and folds his arms,

Still avoiding my eyes.

“Let’s sit down,” he says.

Brush aside the beer bottles and cigarette butts

Lay our towel on the damp sand.

Gulls screech overhead,

Our footprints begin to fade.

I hand him his hot dog.

We munch

Silently, sharing fries.

We do not complain that the food is cold

Or that we have waited long to get it.

This is how I know

Something is coming and I wish he would

Just say it.

“What?” he asks me, annoyed

I am staring at him again.

“The seagulls look like eagles” I say at last,

Watching a little girl build her sand castle.

Her soft golden hair soaks

In the vanishing rays of sunlight.

He stands, holding out his hand again.

With a sigh, I take it.


About Jean C Wong

I am a world traveler, writer, photographer, and teacher. I've lived all over the world and speak 5 languages.


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