Shades Of Blue

Sorting through mementos, greeting cards,
playbills I find a photo. A knot twists
my stomach. I exhale, focus
on the man with ankles crossed,
stretched out in a rope hammock strung
between the hulls of a trimaran. Your smile
reels me back to Isla Mujeres in a flash.
You wear royal blue trunks, white shirt,
a hat I bought you in Cancun.
Beneath you, mystical lucid waters
kaleidoscope from blue to green
and back again. You have a Coronita
in your right hand, left arm propped
behind your head. I took this picture
just before the captain cut the engines
and the trimaran settled. A suspended
moment of silence as the sea turtles swam
close, performed a water ballet as if choreographed.
You said we’d talk about them for decades.
Strange, we never had that conversation.
The next year you died. I put the photo back,
hope to stumble on it again.

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Comments
2 Responses to “Shades Of Blue”
  1. Stephanie Golisch says:

    Reading this, it all feels so dreamlike, but the last four lines just cut to the emotional core. Sea turtle ballet, gorgeous. The details of the man are so precise, I can see him in my mind without hesitation. Lovely job, thank you for sharing.

  2. pdxwriters says:

    The colors are so vivid, the moment so perfect, the ending tell us so powerfully that we need to bask in each lovely now. You know? The narrator says it so beautifully while I stumble.

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