For the Adventurous

by laura hughes

Lily said, “I’m Jacques Cousteau, diving for my stylo,”
and bobbed beneath the table’s edge
combing the tiled floor for a fallen pen.
I forgot the shape and color of her eyes,
their shadowed look of natural cruelty;
her name that makes bad rhymes on my tongue.

The first day we met, she did speed
in a smoke-free airplane bathroom
and confessed to me her fear of nuns.
In those days, to be adventurous
was a pledge to run naked through French gardens –
something never done before.

The Mediterranean water was cold in April,
the rocky shore was shifting underfoot,
but Lily wore underwear, swam through morning
while I looked down into pink quartz
for the number of waves that would ever break,
and how many had before.
 

 

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Copyright © 2005 Laura Hughes