Days In Chincoteague
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Days In Chincoteague

A poem about one of my favorite places in the world.

Days In Chincoteague
Sarah Turnbull

Days in Chincoteague

I slam the car door behind me,

Donning my sunglasses

As the Virginia sun warms my face.

I inhale, sucking in the tangy smell

Of saltwater and marshlands.

One of my favorite places in the world.

I walk in the surf,

The waves teasing me

As they splash my feet and then retreat.

I sigh with pleasure

As the sand works its way between my toes,

Rough and gentle, exfoliating.

I tentatively walk farther into the water,

Stepping gingerly to avoid the broken shells

And horseshoe crab corpses

That made snacks for seagulls.

I fill my cheeks with air and think, what the heck.

I plunge into the water.

The world above me was deafening. Chaotic.

Roaring wind, squawking seagulls, screaming kids.

Now the world is silent. Still.

Time is suspended.

I return to the surface,

And the world jolts back into motion,

Assaulting me with various sensory details.

The waves are tinged with pink,

Reflecting the huge strawberry

Sinking on the horizon.

I go through the motions—drying off,

Packing up my stuff, driving back

To the rental house.

I don’t register any of it.

I lean back in my seat,

Falling asleep smiling.


My eyes snap open.

I sit bolt upright in bed, nervous.

I catch my breath—just my alarm.

My heart sinks as I gather my thoughts.

I’m not at my favorite place in the world.

It’s a bone-chilling winter morning

In western Pennsylvania.

It’s Monday, it’s sleeting sideways,

And I have three huge projects

Due today.

It was just a dream.

A hell of a dream.

I put my alarm on snooze,

Wrap myself in my cocoon,

And let the sandman

Take me back to Dream Land.

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This article has not been reviewed by Odyssey HQ and solely reflects the ideas and opinions of the creator.

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