Tag Archives: summer

Pretty Beach Towel, Yellow Flowers

Her blonde hair, light and yellow, is starting to show it’s dark roots.

Like the smile on her face, her laughter, are starting to not be able

to cover up the sadness and bitterness under her skin.

A pretty and bright, red and white, candy striped bikini, starting to

show it’s wear and age. She’s had it for three summers. It’s starting

to fit a little too snug. We’ve both put on weight.

The bright, lush greens of the poplar’s around the gouged out pit

that is the old quarry, that is now filled with cold and dark and

ancient waters, does nothing to soothe the hurt of looking at it.

She puts a yellow and white beach, with pretty flowers, down on

the pseudo beach, where the land slides into that dark water. Signs

warn us not to swim here. We’ve never paid them any mind.

We swim out into those dark, ancient waters. We shiver and we dive

and we swim, and we get playful and splash each other, and I chase

after here, as if I was a sea monster, clinch my arms around her, as she laughs.

The day is hot and the sun is hard, beating down on any bare skin above the water.

Under her eyes is starting to form flush, red, raw strips, despite the sunblock.

We float on our backs, holding hands, looking up at the loving and harsh god of ours.

Later, we walk back to my truck, bare foot on soft grass and hard stones, up the path

from the primordial pit and waters, from the forest were the demons bide their time

while the god the sun is watching, from the place we are free of the weight.

She laces her fingers through mine, and I squeeze her hand tightly. It’s late afternoon.

The road back to town is busy, a state highway, and some worn our classic rock is on the radio.

We don’t say anything. She smokes a cigarette out the open window. Tomorrow, we’re back to the world.

The Long Day’s Sun

The sun is fading away, though it’s still so humid here,

by the sea, that I feel I need gills to breathe, still so

sweltering, like being wrapped in a tight, wet, steamed blanket.

Ricardo and Mary and walking up, hand in hand, dripping wet,

finally leaving the water as it gets dark, almost if their were

merpeople long ago, in their first and better life.

Last hurrah before school, for me anyway, scrawny and awkward,

unsure of the future, high school, new school, everything shifting,

riding the bus and moving closer to the inevitable, to growing up.

Ricardo pulls Mary into his arms, squeezes her tight and kisses her,

and I look away, nauseous, uneasy watching them like this, wondering

what the big appeal of it all is.

We’re in Mary’s ancient and haphazard calico Ford Probe, driving in

the night, the city shining bright and a hazy golden glow by the highway,

some band I’ve never heard of that Mary loves playing. It is sad. Soothing.

Ricardo holds her right hand on the console while she steers with the left,

and they are talking and laughing, and even in the dark the headlights catch

a glint of the tiny and proud diamond on her engagement ring.

They are through with school. My angels. My protectors. My de-facto siblings.

Older and wiser, already been through the wars to show me the way, are leaving

for Seattle, for a life together, for a better jobs far away.

Mary and Ricardo have always been in love. They have always been there.

Mary used to hold me close to her breast, stroke my hair, sing me lullabies,

and Ricardo always had time to listen to my stories, kick a soccer ball, play with me.

High school is coming. They’re leaving. I feel alone, afraid of what I have to face.

The song changes, and the woman singing, mournful and quiet, sends shivers down

my spine and my arms, even as they radiate with the heat of the long day’s sun.

Mary raises up Ricardo’s hand, and kisses it, and he leans over and kisses her cheek.

Mary pulls into a fast food joint, and Ricardo runs in, coming out with a strawberry sundae.

He gives it to, ruffles my hair, gives me a smile, and then were on again into the night.

I eat my sundae, knowing like these good times, it will be gone too soon.

Entwined In Light

Long dark hair on golden brown skin,
flow over bare breasts with nipples
soft and pink as rosebuds.
 The skin clean and clear, no rain,
just the bright golden star casting
glory upon our youth.
 We lay side by side, both of us naked
from the waist up, silent in the light,
silent in the sweet afternoon.
 And soon, upon our hot beach towels,
we make love, and become one and whole,
forgetting in ourselves, finding death.
 Rosebuds will bloom, flower so brightly,
and for a season they will be desired,
and then be cast aside.
 Naked beneath the sky, skin radiating,
another sweet afternoon passing on,
another day that can be nothing else.
 One last time, make love, beneath stars,
our souls scattered and entwined with
the ancient light.
 Stars too pass on, light reaching from death,
and warm in each other’s arms, in tender submission,
we fall back to Earth.

Party Down

August is the last kiss before she leaves.
The last part of you that in magic believes.
Blue and white bikini and her black hair wet.
That smile, this love, these days, place the bet
that she will stay, that love will grow,
and that August won’t pass into the fall we don’t know.
The night is humid and sultry and filled with booze,
and as you lay her down, as you kiss her, what is their to lose?
The stars the bridemaids to a momentary paradise and loss,
and the moon the priest that seals the deal in pentagram and cross.
The distant music, the hotness of her skin, the belief it will last.
The night sweet in the coming burns your eyes when it become the past.
Spin the galaxy like she did spin the bottle like the sun spins the earth.
Regret is a paradise reclaimed and made holy in divine curse and infernal worth.
If I could but be there again, falling asleep in her embrace, my head against hers,
to let go of the high and mighty ways of my anger and the joy it lashes out and defers.