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.