Fishing
Hector stands on the water,
thinking of Carmella,
who never quite came back.
She could pick a strawberry like
Segovia fixing harmonics.
She loved him, but only once.
He arrives at the pier,
ties his board to a piling and
climbs to his favorite table.
Carmella brings him a smile in
the shape of a rhombus,
a chowder that verges on majesty.
She says, Ask the question.
He says, Ever?
She says, No. Never.
Hector thinks back a tear.
Why do you do this?
She sets her hands on
his java shoulders.
On a night when the
moon was one-third gone,
three men took my youth.
My only sweetness is
telling you no.
He traces the outline of her
blood-red lips. In that case,
I will take the chowder.
The rhombus widens to
one third of a moon.
A pelican bombs the harbor,
comes up empty.
Hector says,
Yes, I know.
No comments:
Post a Comment