I said, Let this one be dead. –Sharon Olds
1.
The day we would have gone
to the shore I woke up nauseous,
shivering in bed in summer, the thick
sap of sickness caught in my throat.
I knew what I was missing--
you, in shrewd ocean beside me,
a salt-water amnesia in our bones,
your cool hands running like silk
through mine beneath the surface.
2.
But I did not know what I would miss
most; the small things.
The ease of touching
another. Holding breaths for more
than just the water.
Crinkled eyes, sand between
toes and trapped under fingernails.
The small things like
someone to share the
small things with.
3.
If only I could chase a fevered morning
like a little girl, and not be afraid,
then I could wake up to the salty air and
know it too well, each cell of my body
calm as a summer sunrise.
In my dreams the ocean still waves on
with the ease that made me believe you
needed nothing as right as my life was right,
needed nothing as whole and
honest as the wood of the boardwalk
or your love for me.
1.
The day we would have gone
to the shore I woke up nauseous,
shivering in bed in summer, the thick
sap of sickness caught in my throat.
I knew what I was missing--
you, in shrewd ocean beside me,
a salt-water amnesia in our bones,
your cool hands running like silk
through mine beneath the surface.
2.
But I did not know what I would miss
most; the small things.
The ease of touching
another. Holding breaths for more
than just the water.
Crinkled eyes, sand between
toes and trapped under fingernails.
The small things like
someone to share the
small things with.
3.
If only I could chase a fevered morning
like a little girl, and not be afraid,
then I could wake up to the salty air and
know it too well, each cell of my body
calm as a summer sunrise.
In my dreams the ocean still waves on
with the ease that made me believe you
needed nothing as right as my life was right,
needed nothing as whole and
honest as the wood of the boardwalk
or your love for me.
