We walk tandem well past midnight,

Summer tempests mad and young.

The air charged thick with salt and clouds

And cherry ice still on our tongues;

Sandals dangling off hooked fingers,

Remnant sand between our toes;

Soles pressed lightly to the pavement

Slicked with rain and indigo.


Quiet laughter seals in spaces

Left unfilled by ocean’s roar.

Ancient streetlamps flicker hazy

As we pass by corner stores;

Joined together hand in hand — we

Two bodies wade through the gale

While lightning bounces off the coast

And your painted fingernails;


Over Seaford on a bridge with

Wind-swept hair and noses red.

Leering thoughts about September

Hover over both our heads;

Porch lights crest around the turnpike

We go in through your back door.

Plant myself into your sofa

Like the countless times before;


Stories travel back and forth as

Storms wage war upon the beach,

Your lips part as if you have a

Homily you need to preach.

Talking turns to my departure,

As we dry our soaking clothes

Against the glow of TV screens,

Hearts and bodies left exposed;


Staring straight into the future,

Met with nothing but abyss,

I intone with all assurance

“I know this and only this:

It must be an Intervention

(Of some Godly, cosmic breed)

Gave me August in Delmarva

And a chance for us to meet.”


When I’m settled back at home, your

Cadence just a reverie,

The transience of our acquaintance

Will have no effect on me;

Though, all the talks we did exchange,

Not one had ever carved so deep

As when you told me everything

Upon the briny Chesapeake.

  1. Wow….just wow. It is wonderful to know the museum for the written word carries on through our family. Love you Miss Julia!

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About the Author

Julia Tallon writes short fiction and poetry in between design gigs while studying at Montgomery College in Rockville, Maryland.