The Glad Sea

by Kurt Peloquin

“Take back the magic”—
    That stream of the dead 
        And what they learn free from the grip of time.
            The ever-dream, 
                Driftwood of dark matter.

This week cried to you, Gladys.
Wished you could have known me this way:
Creative and caring and confused.
And offered me a plate of cantaloupe
In your simple kitchen,
Where you fed my mother and her twin sister,
Patched their dresses,
And spoke the language of kindness so softly  
People thought you quiet, or shy,
In the shadow of Charlie’s great fire.

            But you were his Sea, weren’t you, Gladys?
        The first tears I saw him cry were for you—
    Perhaps a payment for the depths he only knew.

Can you walk with me today?
“Okay.”

    There you are, 
        In the curls I used to try and straighten out.
            Waves of dead skin.
                We can just listen to the gulls, 
            And I’ll watch you paint
        Daydreams of orange lilies and old friends—
    Nunzio and Mary.

                    And I’ll find my Christmas stocking,
                Fresh Florida orange at the bottom,
            Fresh as the wind off the Gulf Coast in St. Pete.

Our Glad Sea,
And you can hold our Willow.
Will you hold her for us?
She’s got Charlie’s fire and could use some water. 

            Were you with us then? Are you here with us now?  Can you guide us always?

        “I was.”

      “I am.”

    “I will.”