Greece

Richelle is afraid of open water.
Richelle who loves to swim but fears
what she cannot see
(hairy nasty black things lurking on the bottom,
toe-eaters)
    This is no chlorine-sterile pool. 
She swims all the same,  enjoys the feel of her body slicing the water,
the powerful movement of her limbs.
I stay where it is safe
And watch. 

The sea is shallow
And we can get far enough away
from the shore
That the people are small, featureless.
I can't tell anymore that they aren't Americans,
That they speak a language and lead a life
I only hold in formless and foggy notions.
But even this far away they can see
by the redness of my hair
and the whiteness of my skin
that I am not one of them.

Schools of fish in the water
Too far away to see, they are just
A disturbance, distractions to the eyes.
They move faster than I do but never very far
Just enough away again
so that I keep chasing
Until I step on a rock and cut my foot. 
But the salt water
Will keep it from getting infected. 

Sunworn and lazy
Barefoot we walk home
What we call home though we've
only been there
Two and a half days and will only stay
One day more.  
There are puppies living in a cardboard box
Along the unkempt alley between our house
And the beach.  We stop for the puppies.
I wonder what will happen to them
I wonder what will happen to us.

Greece Contributed by banjo on Thursday, 27th March 2003 @ 04:05:00 PM in AEST Topic: MiscPoems Greece Richelle is afraid of open water. Richelle who loves to swim but fears what she cannot see (hairy nasty black things lurking on the bottom, toe-eaters)     This is no chlorine-sterile pool.  She swims all the same,  enjoys the feel of her body slicing the water, the powerful movement of her limbs. I stay where it is safe And watch.  The sea is shallow And we can get far enough away from the shore That the people are small, featureless. I can't tell anymore that they aren't Americans, That they speak a language and lead a life I only hold in formless and foggy notions. But even this far away they can see by the redness of my hair and the whiteness of my skin that I am not one of them. Schools of fish in the water Too far away to see, they are just A disturbance, distractions to the eyes. They move faster than I do but never very far Just enough away again so that I keep chasing Until I step on a rock and cut my foot.  But the salt water Will keep it from getting infected.  Sunworn and lazy Barefoot we walk home What we call home though we've only been there Two and a half days and will only stay One day more.   There are puppies living in a cardboard box Along the unkempt alley between our house And the beach.  We stop for the puppies. I wonder what will happen to them I wonder what will happen to us. Copyright © banjo ... [ 2003-03-27 16:05:00] (Date/Time posted on site) Advertisments: Previous Posted Poem         | |         Next Posted Poem