Are All of These Shovels Our Shovels?

Are All of These Shovels Our Shovels?

At the beach we weigh the blanket down
with rocks and towels. As we read our books,
our plastic chairs sink deep into the sand.
Puzzles come together with slow exhilaration.
There's ice cream five minutes away.

We are not ourselves at the dinner table.
We are musical instruments, and animals,
and abstract ideas we can't explain.
Our children are like cousins.
They lock their doors, but we can still

get in. The gum they chew holds its flavor
for years. Their candy is antique. When they sleep,
their beds are still forts, and when they swim,
the ocean is still the ocean. If you want to know
whose shovels these are, just ask.