It was a hot day, too hot for June.
I took him to the beach with a picnic; red wine
and strawberries, like when we were young.
He was wearing his suit (never had
much of a memory; he got up for work on Sunday).
With rolled up cuffs like a little boy he sat in the sand
and spoiled his trousers,
sucked the juice of a strawberry and gave me
little red kisses.
it was our anniversary, too,
of course. But I didn’t mind.
We drank a lot of that wine, a viscous red. It was nice,
He chased me on the sand dunes in the heat
and I cut my foot on the grass spears.
By evening, our empty glasses
looked like bloodied light,
empty bottles full of a sticky green glimmer.
My head was full of it too. Full of an anniversary
that felt like a honeymoon.
I sat with a red serviette on my foot and watched him
run into the sunset.
He called something back to me; no,
not to me, to the sea.
I laughed and couldn’t hear.
He ran out into the foam, shouting still,
but he gave up and took me back to the car.
Lying on the seat, my foot throbbed, my nose was peeling.
I felt invincible, I slept while he fetched
the remains of our evening.
How many hours in that blissful sleep
how many moments of lost confusion
and where was he, by the time I reached the shore?
The sea was beautiful and incessant
chewing up the sand at my feet
as I called his name.
Those dunes were silent
and the water a smug Red Sea –
parted for him, betrayed and closed over him,
while my eyes bled tears to join the salt that stole him.