It sat on the bench, pink canvas, toes scuffed, all alone,

Its owner with Daddy, shoeless having been driven home.

So safe, so light as he held her hand,

Bright with excitement she had run to the sand.

Tousled hair, still in her sundress, oh so neat,

Sucking her thumb dreaming of sandcastles she fell fast asleep.

Somewhere near a six-year-old slept,

All through supper his mother kept,

Kept asking where he thought his new boots sat?

They sit together, straight, a pair that,

That left by the change room door. Brown leather,

Would be ruined with a coming change of the weather.

On a tree hangs a baseball cap,

Taken off when its owner had stolen an afternoon nap,

What an idyllic way to spend an hour in the grass,

Planning be able to buy a ticket, as the white clouds pass.

Nat Baily stadium only a dream,

Hot dogs, soft drinks, cheering his team.

In her bed a little girl sobs herself to sleep,

For her favourite toy sits deserted. It was just by her feet.

Her greatest treasure for she is just four,

Gifts are precious when your family is poor

And your toys a rarely new,

And this much-loved Little Pony belongs only to you.

Tomorrow when at Transfer Beach we walk,

Together we will stop and look at the lost belongings, and talk,

Talk about times as a child, and the things we still regret and lost through the years,

For in old age the child in us can be brought to remember the tears.

Today we walked in Transfer Beach Park.

Penelakut Island off in the distance where once stood a residential school,

Closing 1975.

We stop at the carved cedar canoe.

Lying at its base moccasins, sandals, slippers more tiny than large.

To our horror we realize its not the shoes that are lost,

Its running, skipping, dancing little feet.

Gale Fernie,
Wordsmith, Poet.

See all articles by Gale Fernie