“Over My Toes”

OVER MY TOES

Recalling romantic ocean crossings
and horizontal bodies
lain out on wooden deck chairs,
bundled, blanketed against wind and fine spray,
“Taking the sun,” as they might have said,

Today…

On a padded chaise lounge, I gaze over my toes
through portside plate glass,
(the heated, chlorinated pool nearby)
at ruffly gray water, gray sky, gray shore –
distant and barely discernible.

Then threadbare clouds rip open randomly,
allow light to fall like glitter on the ripples,
creating big islands of surface sparkle and glisten.
I count 5 or 6 over the great liquid expanse.

Soon a dense, white, felted wool sky
repairs the wispy thin heavenly fabric,
forbidding any rays to escape and kiss the water with diamonds.

But I like foggy shroud.
My eyelids droop and drop, curtains fall down on the monochrome.
Heavily accented voices chatter over my left shoulder,
muted and muffled,
near yet far.
Occasionally, clatter of dishware and clink of glassware.
Noises shut in and shut out
as in a hospital bed.
Sedated. Repairing. Restoring. Relaxing.

Cruising.

Julie Helms April, 2022