SEVEN

The lighthouse sits aloof
far up the beach
from where my sister
and I and two friends act out
the story of Stone Soup
for our parents. The beach
is dark stones deposited thick
like forgetfulness though I cannot
think this yet, and next I am skipping
from trembling stone to stone
in the shallow water wearing
a red t-shirt that says,
"I didn't come here by accident -
I came here on porpoise"
which I got on this trip to Maine.
I want to see two eyes
and a slick mammal head
pop up from the yawning Atlantic
and lead me further
from New Jersey, further from
third grade than I ever dreamed
possible, into the lighthouse
where every day
I will climb the spiral steps
with a bucket of fresh fish
and crabs and where
I'll cast black stones
like wishes from the top of the tower
into the sea.