I wait in the rain for a taxi.

This street is newly paved.

The scent of smoke and oil

hover, curl in the air.

Flecks of light reflect in the water

reminding me of diamonds.

 

There wasn’t any pavement

where we lived on the coast,

only snow, gravel and mud.

The winter months were

best when we simmered in

out nest, wintering wasps.

 

The white clapboards preserved

us like a museum vault.

We celebrated spring

by splashing them with schoolhouse

red, a sign, you said, of something

we cherished. But paint cracks and

 

fades quickly in sandy, salty air.

You left in October before the

first snow. There was a long note,

more than I planned to do.

 

It is still raining, the taxi driver

is saying something. I am remembering

the night sky over the coast,

the way stars would shine out over the ocean,

a million hard diamonds.

 

 

 

Open link night at the Pub