indian-ocean blue

November 17, 2010

indian-ocean blue

i remember one time when we

walked through that abandoned

apple orchard, hand in hand.  it must

have been late summer or early fall

because there were still blossoms

on the branches, pink and soft

as the birdsong and your newspaper poetry. 

we came upon the apples, cold and

hard and bright – peridot; it didn’t matter

that they still had weeks to ripen, because

our rosebud mouths opened, ate them,

and laughed.  we thought

that the clouds gathering were only doves

coming to nest in the sky until it began

to thunder, but even then our eyes

like sunflowers turned to search

for some remaining trace of light

as we held each other close. 

yesterday, we didn’t walk through

apple trees, but through city streets,

and you whispered that you missed

the songbirds because they had all become

pigeons.  our sad talk is of statistics,

not of verse, and our voices fight the steel

and concrete clanging.  construction scaffolds

and littered cigarettes are all we know

of beauty. other people pass on the sidewalk,

keeping their faces down, rushing

off to their challenging jobs and busy

lives.  the rain streaks down our dirty

gray windows, and yet we pull

out those old, perennial smiles and think

about the days when the sky was still

that indian-ocean blue;

we remember, we hope,

and we hold each other close.