Monday, November 1, 2021

Our Low-Tide Romance


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



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