The End of Summer Beaches

—Petrarchan sonnet

Smooth grey pebbles lie among the shingle,
like sea eggs on sharp, orange chips of glass.
Only the high spring tides reach the grass.
Among the stones, cigarette butts mingle,
splinters of plastic and dropped coins, jingle
lost rings, detritus of every type and class
strips of sea weed, on the grey waves, pass.
Only a beachcomber stays, alone, single.

Sandcastles ruined by jealous waves,
only a few broken turrets still remain.
The sand is wetter, footsteps disappear.
At last, the sea swirls into ancient caves,
snakes’ tongues, flicking over rocks again,
the end of summer in the circling year.

 

Sarah Das Gupta is a writer from Cambridge, UK who has taught English and lived in India, Tanzania and UK. Her work has been published in over twenty five countries in anthologies and magazines. A graduate in History from London University, she has a particular interest in the late Austro-Hungarian Empire. She has recently been nominated for Best of the Net, a Pushcart, and a Dwarf Star.