Sunlit Seagirt, Atlantic girdled land,
Laid the salt scene of one young summer spent
With a widowed aunt. Finding me ignorant
As puzzling girlhood fell away, she planned
A lemonade party in a crowded room
To show me grown up manners. But the boys
Were wise, and the girls already aglow with poise.
Ah hopeful aunt, my style was never bloom
Your friends, the captains and commanders, praised
My gracelessness, remembering their own
Brash mastery of innocence. They'd known
Maturity too long. Mere youth amazed
Or pleased their cooling appetites. But I
Nevertheless grew up that summer, down
On the grainy sand, fingering slippery brown
Seaweed, rough shells, green crabs. I spent July
Learning the Jersey shore, when sunlight, slant
On the empty beach at morning, failed to draw
The slumbering lovers. (Afternoons I saw
Them though, voluptuous and confident
Of their warm, lovely limbs against coarse sand.)
Puzzled by lovers, shy of my clumsy speech
I found the solitude of Seagirt Beach
Sufficient for my aimless need. My hand
Learned textures. Sounds of the steady sea
Rang in my ears. The comprehensive light
Of water, sand and sky, dazzled my sight
Body responded to that energy,
And I learned how to love the earth with all
My hungering senses. Summer gone, I went
Inland again, no longer innocent.
Sea mastered, aunt, made woman by that fall.