The Little Blue-Green Fete
Past the water reeds
the shimmer of the pond
the place where we had rowed across
and drifted hand in hand
and on the other side found rows of pussy willows
Cattails at first obscured our view
You sliced one clean
and then another
we feigned sword fights
late afternoon
and pushed our way to shore
With fluff still clinging to our sleeves
and laughter light and clear
our picnic was short lived
in the damp grass by the bank
one’s sweater soon draped to keep the other warm
The blue-green weight of dusk
turned the morning lilies into something grave
but content we watched the rhythmic dance
of water glugging late
and held our ankles
side by side
We left our boat tied tidily
back through the wood we strode
and shivered along the roadway
while a good silence lived between us
and thrummed like gleaming coals
We didn’t have to say it then or even afterwards
Such days, no matter what our age,
have made the others soft
we walk, we paint, we hold those others dear
we are most beholden to this task
it is what quenches us
(inspired by a painting by Jesse Stael)
© R. Lengelle, 2017
