The Pier – A Poem

 

The Pier

Greet me
when summer begins
to fail
by the pier
where the songs
of the waves
come
crashing along the pilings.
I shall be dressed
in a vest of
turquoise delight
wearing a shining gold watch
that pointlessly counts
out the hours
to midnight.

Under us
beneath the wooden planks
of the pier
buried deep in the sand
is the old wood locker
full of the bones
we had collected
years ago.
Complimenting you on
the colorfully slender
trousers
that you will be wearing
you’ll smile
in the shade
of your large brimmed
straw hat.
I will present you a flower
(a white lily
or a red carnation…)
(…for you were always
the sentimental
one)
and we will walk
out
to the end
of the pier.

It will take us all day
to reach
our destination
as we stroll leisurely
past
people casting their lines
far into the dark ocean waters
full of invisible
treasures
and treacheries.
Perhaps they will catch the golden fish
or a muscle
full of pearls.
The lulling music
of the
water will
rhythmically dance through
the salty air
that moistens our skin
as we speak
of our professional achievements
and personal
failures.
You
burdened by the
long hours
at your thriving practice
and to a husband
and three children
you hardly
know
and me
divorced
and lost in the corporate files
of an office building
downtown.

At reaching the end
of the pier
we will have come to the past
in our conversation
but those days
will no longer pierce through the dark
of the night that has
enveloped
us.
In the glow of the light
you will sparkle
as you
lean over the edge
of the railing
and toss the flower
I gave
into the sea.
One more bone for the chest.

I will hold your hand
as we walk back
in a silent stillness that
cannot be
broke
by the waves
or by the seasons
or by the tides
and we part at the entrance
of the pier
as autumn arrives
in the muted voice
of the dead
resting
anxiously
buried
in the sand.