Day one said we didn't have to wear shoes
Bone white toes curled in shallow cold
water sloshing from a pail. Now
We don't go when the tide is out
So we don't go at all
bound up in books, careers
Water still there though no
one is looking.
On the second day we donned black ties
Polished like our hair. Jostled
a resume with clammy palms for hours on end and then
your mother heard you cry for the first time in a while. While
I sobbed for four years straight.
On the third day we crawl.
Age has not treated us kindly. The
Return is slow, we envy even
Barnacles, creeping 'cross the dull shine.
The common blight of dawn breaking
Oceans on our skin and bleeding
Out or bleeding in.
The pill is sour, it tastes of death. Metallic
on the fourth day. You
are gone, wriggling in the the morning sun. We
say we are young and hold each-others tongues
with our teeth.
On the rocks or underneath the tide
somewhere in the pools brimming with life.
Your shirt was red, I remember
But day five brings nothing.
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