You are on a beach somewhere
Dressed to the nines in the 1930s.
Your dress has a Chinese collar and your hair is curled
Just so – like Clara Bow.
Your skirts are hitched up out of the sea's reach
Revealing dimpled knees - daring.
Behind you, my grandfather sits in a deckchair watching:
Suit, waistcoat, tie, hat, his good brown shoes.
The corners of his mouth turn upwards
Under his Buster Keaton hat.
I remember the coal fire and cigarette smell of him,
The red creases on the back of his neck in the car,
His magic trick sixpence from behind my ear.
You served tea at four with fondant fancies and
When we asked for a story, you recited a rhyme from
Your own childhood: Three Little Foxes.
I wonder who took the picture that day on the sands:
How deep they waded out
To capture this moment before the tide came in.
First Draft
You are on a beach somewhere
Dressed to the nines in the 1930s.
Your dress has a Chinese collar and your hair is curled
Just so – like Clara Bow.
Your skirts are hitched up out of reach of the waves
Revealing dimpled knees - daring.
Behind you, my grandfather sits in a deckchair watching:
Suit, waistcoat, tie, hat, his good brown shoes.
I wonder who is taking the picture
How deep they waded out
While you laughed at them.
Later, there would be hard times
But in this moment, you are nineteen
A new bride, without a care in the world.
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