My response to Day 4 prompt of a “place” poem in 31 in 31 at Poewar.com, plus a bonus poem!
I smelled of Jean Nate and Fresca
You of collar starch and bottled beer
Each time the ocean crashed against the rock
And seaweed reached between my toes,
You tossed another swallow back
And I blinked the spray away from tearful eyes.
“Why are you crying?” You asked, puzzled only, not afraid,
Used to the quick and constant turn of tides.
“All this,” and I motioned,
Trying to encompass the enormity of light, and color and form.
Knowing I could not help you understand
The choreography of gull and wave and sand,
I merely said, “it’s OK, it’s a good cry.”
“You’re silly,” you said and tossed your empty,
upon the retreating sea.
The fire and violet dimmed at world’s end
And the cold of the granite clawed hard at my buttock
Ignoring my corduroy jeans.
“Also, you’re a senior, ” I said.
“So?” The first shade of caution in your eyes.
Dropping your hand I raced back up the dirt path
Avoiding the sumac and poison ivy wearing their first full day of green.
“Last one back to the car is a rotten egg!”
You caught me and we tumbled together there
All legs and lips and jeans
Till the stars sang of curfew
And the tide in full retreat
Began to rise again.
Lemon shampoo tickles my nose with memories of Jean Nate and adolescent explorations
Mouth remembers the tingle of first picked fruit
Squeezed into pitchers of water tinkling with bells of ice
And sucked through sugar cubes.
My fingers lather and tangle in your red, red hair
As your eyes lock mine into the moment
And all of I fall away
No fears, no age, no wrinkles or scars;
Resolution sluicing off with the water hitting my face
As you bring your lips to mine.
And I am clean.
It is only cheap white tile, not marble, I am pressed against
In a well past prime apartment,
It is not forever
Only a an afternoon
Only a shower
And then a kiss.
You are Spring
And I am September
It is first time, last time
And so we worship.