A table for three; friend, daughter and me –
Chilled muscadet trickles down our dusty throats
like ice cream dripping from a cone.
Using an empty shell, blue-black ocean-washed smooth,
we pinch and pluck plump pale
apricot-orange, briny-sweet moules.
Between us a cloud white bowl sits piled high
with sunshine golden frites, crisp and thin.
We savor the sun
while our tongues lick the salt from our fingers
and we listen to waves licking the shore.
This poem was written from Margo’s prompt about a summer image or memory. She asked us to share the picture or image that was the source of the poem. Last summer my daughter and I visited a very close friend in Brittany, France. We gorged ourselves on moules et frites (mussels and fries) everyday for lunch. The lunch we had on the island of Brehat is particularly memorable. I don’t have a picture of lunch, but here is one I took while we were walking around the island.