Eventide

08/20/2009 § 1 Comment

Little by little, the sun declined towards the horizon.
It was some young girl shedding her dress of orange and pink and red and purple, color-by-color, skin-by-skin. Naked and yellow as the morning she was born, she perched on horizon’s edge and dipped her toes in the waters, and there painted herself bare with the shiest of sunlight. A girlish smile, her wordless adieu.

With her gone, her dress melted into bleakness in the palette of the night. All that was left of her was her scent in the waves. Underneath the salt and fish, I thought she smelled like fields of wheat bowing before Autumn’s blow, or a Spanish matador’s breath after a bullfight—full of liqueur and tobacco and ladies’ kisses.

(the puff of smoke mother let out
alone on the balcony,
as gray and ethereal as
her hair let loose,
too smell like that. Why
did she hold onto that cigarette
so long, so hard, until
her fingers burned?)

The beach was littered with logs, massive and timeworn, sleeping sideways like unmindful gods. The dry mosses on their skins were like the wishes we forget to cherish when it’s time to pay the rent. With no one watching, I picked up a pebble and threw it towards the horizon. Flop.

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§ One Response to Eventide

  • eebrinker says:

    much enjoyed….particularly liked “sleeping sideways like unmindful gods.” there is an elegant yearning that borders on a bedtime story….

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