Pigs On The Beach

Pigs on the Beach

By Sarah Ward

Eighteen years ago our friendship bloomed

Her open mind and  laissez faire ways

So opposite to mine

She pried me open with her smile

Filling my empty spaces with gentle reassurance

Quieting my anxieties, acknowledging my nightmares.

Our hearts broke when I left Alaska

But she never blamed me,

Only held me while I cried, and rented The Sound of Music

When I asked her to be my maid of honor in ‘91

She said, “No, you are making a mistake”

It made me rethink my decision.

Two years later, a new lover proposed and I went to her again.

She accepted, questioning, “Why did you ask me a second time?”

“Because you were honest with me,” I said

We landed on different sides of the continent.

Checking in at reunions,

Long conversations across the land lines

Almost a score before we could sit together over a cup of tea

Without one of us nursing a baby

or administering to a toddler.

Now, here she is, on this Vermont beach watching the waves

She seems sad, gazing off into the distance.

Soaking up the peace between us, keeping her silence

I want to wrap my arms around her

Give her the strength she has always given me

But the moment passes and I hear her ask, “Where are the girls?”

“They’re over there,” I point.

“Gone to see the pigs on the beach”

We laugh together, it's outrageous

Our three girls are covered in lake water

Kneeling in the sand patting piglets on a leash

“Do they bite?” I wonder out loud

Then we are driving to the airport, and I’m still yearning for the chance to reconnect

But she’s gone, and I didn’t find the right words to pry her open.

I couldn’t fill her empty spaces.

Perhaps I would have said more

If it hadn’t been for the pigs on the beach

The pigs that are part of our story now.