We
never invested in it, you and I
so
it never did go any further. Miles apart now,
but
no further apart than we were,
we,
who never gave it a nickel’s worth of passion,
maybe
an arm around the shoulders on Carson’s Beach
where
you shared your jacket as we leaned up against
that
tree and I could paint a picture like that,
but
it still seems like there’s not enough paint to cover it
all
in sepia. Did you feel it, too? The non-feeling
and
then, standing up once more, we felt the wind
in
our faces, my hair blew into your teeth
finally
giving up for something better –
him,
her – not you, not me.
Skirt
flying straight back, molding my legs
but the
wind had the only passion –
when
it blew past, there was no heat exchange,
just
bold breeze looking for a cheek to stroke,
but
passing so quickly, it had no time
to
feel the coldness of the moment,
the
catch and caw of the crow over the sands
not
even a phrase that would catch a passerby
and
make him strain for the rest
we
were far beyond anything a seashell would listen to,
harbor,
and pass on next year to another on the beach,
plunging
her feet in the sand until
the
moist undersand cooled the pads of her feet
like
the bottom of a well is always cool,
even
in a dry season, the memory of water remains
and
will my memory of you remain
or
did it go off with that wind?
Copyright
2016 Muriel Thumm
