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Joan Mazza


We walked for the thrill of it, for the minute
or more when we didn’t recognize the houses
and bungalows, fences or flowers,

we walked from boredom, pent up energy
of two girls, eleven, alone, no cell phones
or ID, no phone at our summer shacks.

We walked without fear, as we swam and climbed,
trusting our spindly bodies to take us
where wild grapes scented the air, somewhere new,

the way I’d met red-haired Mary, somewhere
different, adventure right around the corner,
another friend who might lift the blanket

of a long and leaden summer too far
from libraries and movies, no games except
those we made up. Let’s play lost! So we walked,

certain that downhill from anywhere
would take us to Sound Beach, gray wooden steps
down to its familiar rocky shore.


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