(7)

On Deck

Outside my front window overlooking Sitka’s harbor,
and beyond,
you have to imagine Mount Edgecumbe and all else
to behold,
for the horizon, socked in, is blanketed now
by a wet world of gray.

On deck the small, round table and two matching chairs,
wrought-iron black,
are content to drip every few seconds, a code of wet dashes
and dots, telling me a soft rain
though not visible, is falling ever so gently
to baptize the day,
cleansing it for the possibility of peace and even joy
in the openings love creates.

The two empty chairs invite occupancy.
Imagining a summer day, it’s easy to see a couple,
Sitting there, maybe still in their bath robes,
Sipping coffee and sharing a croissant,
talking quietly,
just loud enough to be heard over the ravens’
caws as they wing noisily by.

Actually, in my mind’s eye, I can see
Harry and Meghan sitting there,
The new Duke and Duchess of Sussex,
as I prepare bacon and eggs,
and sliced avocados and emerald isle cheddar
for their second course.

What fun I know we would have,
a royal time that most of the young are up for,
when black is the new purple,
and celebration
the order of the day.

 

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