On a beach in Suffolk
Arrived on bike
To the bottom of the hill, there by the tudor beams and populated boat pond
A miniature home, a homage to a dog, a spiral staircase, a scallop sculpture calling, saying
“I hear those voices that will not be drowned”
I see here my childhood
A seaside town without the menace of that at home, four decades down
And children playing, in unwatched gaps, on the sand, taken off on their own
And peering at a housewife, emerging with a bowl
To continue a chore.
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