Seasonal And Holidays Past Journal

Bumblebees, Bicycles, Bikinis

As in any summer,
I clamour in the rising
heat in the favorite
hours,
suddenly happy
about sun and fun
joining the crowd
with tanning oil,
in the thick of
beachsters
with bikinis on,
the lifeguards on
duty
sailing in their boats
later that day.
I might wish to
bicycle
to the store
in the evening,
skimming the humid air
finalizing my love for
Venice
at any given time
a miracle in its
capacity,
what we call
paradise .
I give in to the
bumblebee language,
making believe that
rainbows appear
after every storm,
as I find the waves
in an abyss of passion
for water.
Praying to the
grand and glorious
Gulf of Mexico
it penetrates my
thoughts,
bubbling up with foamy
magic,
owning my heart as
a musical tune might
open its first stanza.
I once told my lover
I would only leave
Paradise
if he were dead,
as I further kept
my memories after
Dad's dying,
unforgettable.
Shoulder to shoulder
we stood as a couple in
Kodak shots,
aching for the story
of the sea,
crazy for fish from the
market
and fresh corn on the
cob from the cornfields,
so real,
so adventurous,
so exciting,
was the climate.
I will succumb to the
pounding waves against
the rocks
and pick sharks teeth
in the sand,
on the beach,
where pineapple trees
loom up on the horizon,
herons are on the lush
green lawn, in my mind,
as I fold my striped umbrella
and silently steal
away from the distant sand.