My utopia is similar to some.
Some people think of it as glum.
Some people imagine a place away from home.
But I imagine a place close to where I’m from.
The beach is where I love to be.
The warm sand, and the cold sea.
The pretty shells that poke my feet,
Are the reasons I still remember the beach.
The shells on my bookshelf,
Prompt me to recall the shore.
Even writing about the beach,
Makes me feel down that I can’t go some more.
Utopia is a place like perfection.
The beach is where that is.
Surfing against waves of blue and green.
The saltwater makes my curls frizz.
The beach is where I love to be.
Even in the coldness of winter,
My seashells will remind me,
Of the memories I have at the beach.
Photo by Luke Dean-Weymark on Unsplash
