Room 803, by the sea, is meant for me.

My home away from home
My seaside place,
Twice the size of my everyday space.

No Clutter, white walls;
Perfumed soap gift wrapped
Waiting for my return.

Sliding glass doors
Overlooking Atlantic ocean.
Sounds of the sea rock me asleep.

Ten blocks away, neon Casino lights.
My secret place; self- contained:
Restaurant, pool, movie theatre, gym.

I brought a lover once
His presence is long gone
Room 803, by the sea, is meant for me.

From my balcony I see a grand old brick mansion.
Three stories high, freshly painted wooden shutters,
Stain glass,wrap around balconies. Water-less fountain.

I spy the windows for signs of life.
A man enters a side door, only to leave soon after;
One out-side light burns all night.

I imagine a gray- haired lady lives there alone.
Her grandson checks on her everyday.
She knows Atlantic City in its hayday.

I want to drink a cup of tea with her and listen to her memories.
Did her family build the boardwalk; the steel pier?
Who was the love of her life? Is she happy still being here?

The gift of living long.
A treasure trove: landmark moments.
It only takes a listening ear to bring them back to life.

My grandmother Eva, born in Atlantic City, 1920.
Great grand parents, Banford, left England, settled by the sea.
Atlantic Avenue where they lived, I walked by in wonderment.

I imagine a gray- haired lady who lives alone in the mansion
Holds the keys to my family’s past.
If only we could have a cup of tea.