Blue
I try to tell
my loved ones of the way it tastes:
harsh, first, and then, sometimes,
a sweetness
Water hiding
Cousin J’s feet
as he smiles like a
little prince.
Mama in the RV, watching us
out a plexiglass window. M and I
pretending to be mermaids.
This is how we learned
the value of long hair,
something to hide behind
when quiet
blooms into silence. Evenings are fish fry
dinners, whiskey hidden
in tabasco bottles while
no one says
what they really think. Instead,
we talk about the splendor
of nature. How beautiful the trees are,
someone says. How
peaceful the water. I remember it
sloshing in my mouth.
Cold teeth clack and I
try not to swallow
try not
to spit it out.
Meriwether Clarke |