Moorings
You look lovely today.
You are wearing the thin cotton dress
I'm so fond of, the one with grassy motifs.
I'm glad I'm moored to you.
Please don't take it to heart
when I go tense
and only the rope between us stops me drifting.
And even more
when it hangs loose and I cling to you
muddying your dress.
I think it's good being moored,
the to-and-fro of it,
the dangling, the tightening.
All I dread is the beach
arching its back underneath me,
rubbery tongues
raising the trim blue hull of me,
draining words from me, leaving me
tipped sideways and stranded.
You have to be so patient
waiting for water to gurgle
back and talk me out of my silence.
Page(s) 38
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