Camping On The East Coast

Photo by Kleigh Balugo

By Cait Thomson

The pattering of rain on an umbrella

Takes me to a campground on the coast

Where I will sit under a blue tarp stretched

Between some pines, and eat hot spaghetti off a tin plate

We just spent the day with toes deep in red mud

And our fingers are shrivelled from salt water swims

Bathing suits hang by the fire, steaming as they dry

I’ll sleep well in my tent, exhausted from being a child

Tomorrow we’ll return to the beach

That stretches along and out as far as I can see

I’ll find crabs, snails, jellyfishes, all manner of creatures

The space, freedom, and sea air will do me good

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