The Tuesday Reblog
This poem is sad, with just the glimmerest of glimmery hopes. It’s by my friend Jeff. I know him and his “boat-mate” in real life.
They seemed like scratches on the inside,
Spider webby lines in the cool alumininum
That slid through this water.
I didn’t have to decide not to look at them.
Because they were almost nothing.
And I hadn’t seen them yet.
I put my oar in the water.
And you put your oar in the water.
And I liked how we found this rhythm.
Even as little beads.
Of what might have been just condensation.
Started to run down the sides.
Then, not even pools. Just little drops by our sandaled-bare feet.
I used to wonder who saw it first.
But there’s no time for that anymore.
We were in the middle of the lake.
When suddenly life jackets seemed like a good idea.
When paying attention seemed suddenly like a good idea.
We fell out of the rhythm before we did anything else.
It was futile for…
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