Together at the reservoir
Dec 14, 2007
Like fish scales,
the clouds plate the sky,
letting tiny chinks of blue
escape between then,
and the sun peek through
for just an instant.
I thought of showing you,
pointing out how much
the clouds made me think of fish scales,
how they reminded me,
apropos of nothing,
of fishing trips with Tony,
on spring breaks before
the world got complicated.
But you were still a mystery,
and I, still new to this
strange new world
in which my metaphors matter,
my free association is taken seriously,
my poetry not mocked.
So, that day, I kept it
to myself, and did not show you,
did not share that fleeting moment,
out of fear that you would laugh,
or, worse still, that you wouldn’t.
The scales collapsed into a
shapeless clouded sky,
and the sun hid from us
until we ran out of time,
and returned to our chores.
Now, it seems strange
to have not mentioned
even this trivial observation,
strange to withhold the
slightest poetic thought
from you, my other heart,
my other mind,
and tragic to have missed
the opportunity to share with you
the fish scales in the sky.
Prompted by the Weekend Wordsmith
