Sunday, August 30, 2015

Somewhere in Paris

Did we walk among them,
did we brush the corner of their blanket 
laid out against the sand 
covered with oil and books and cigarettes?

Did we capture him
in our sunset snaps
the panoramas
is he locked in place?

The sun went down, the light
like a blanket laid out against the dusk.
Who would not want to swim,
gold like a tiger rolling over their arms

Did we see them go,
treading through the surf,
laughing and splashing,
watching the moon rise?

As they stepped into the waves
the four of them under the orange sun
we debated the wine
and took more pictures of the dimming sky.

They did not suspect,
they laughed as they swam,
they called each other,
the sun flickered out.

When the ambulance came
and floodlit faces scanned the falling tide,
we ordered ile flottant,
and the kids asked the driver what was up.

He was not aware,
he has gone beyond
the helicopter
and the rescue boats.

We read the news online.
When he came out of the water it told
only what we all knew,
but it didn't say the obvious, that

somewhere in Paris
a woman knows what
it feels like to have
the son the sea loves


Jennie said...

How terribly sad. So close. Beautifully put to poetry, S.

Sparx said...

Thanks Jen. It was awful. The next day another young man went missing from the next beach.

Jennie said...

Oh, my. Such heartbreak. How fickle, the sea.

darth sardonic said...


Your poem speaks in a tone of not noticing, but the fact you wrote it is a testament. Sad, but beautiful.

Life is just that precious.

Darth (which autocorrect keeps thinking should be "dearth" (a word which I shall look up in the dictionary momentarily)) Sardonic

Sparx said...

Darth, I only just saw your post. I was actually on your blog the other day. I shall return, and leave a comment, so you know who your non-existent audience still is.