My Sag Harbor

 /   /  By Emma Birches
Stone Soup Magazine
September/October 2015

By Charlotte Robertson

The heavy door is embellished
With a whale knocker
And on the side a doorbell
That no longer rings.
You walk up the porch steps
And turn the cold metal knob
Pushing against the force
That never wants you to open the white door.
This is my Sag Harbor.
The houses are small
With dogs running out in the yard
As you walk into the town.
Pass the little ice cream parlor
And the restaurant with live lobsters
Watching you pass with fishy eyes.
And pass the toy store
Crowded with kids
Holding quarters to get their turn on the
Coin-operated fire engines.
This is my Sag Harbor.
A shimmering turquoise is the color of the
Wharf.
Where huge crew ships,
Put down their anchors,
And tie themselves to the dock.
The sailboats can be seen for miles,
Clipped to their buoys,
Floating on the surface like butterflies,
In a peaceful order,
Until a motorboat comes racing through,
Creating waves.
At the beach you see the rolling sand dunes,
And the pebbles that litter the lining of the incoming wave.
Like lace the rocks encircle each other,
On the wet sand contrasting beautifully with
The deep blue of the ocean,
And the lighter sky.
This is my Sag Harbor.

sag harbor Charlotte Robertson

Charlotte Robertson, 11
New York, New York

About the Author

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