Sunday, July 16, 2006

Sugarplums

This weekend, I was fortunate enough to be far from the overcrowds of the Hamptons, though still freeloading in a separate oasis, where the scene was not, but the spots on the sundeck were for the taking. And I took, for multiple hours, for laying, for splashing, for nothing.

We welcomed the blue sear of Sunday because Saturday was spent overcast and downcast, flicking lines into the creek and missing each lurking fish. So, this morning we bounded down to a carved out spot, beyond the tennis courts, and on the hill, with a full, clear view of the mountains, and dragged our chairs to the grass at the edge.

SPF, check. Sunglasses, check. Trashy novella exposing the sexy trysts of Washington wives, check. Deciding the swiftest route to money and power is bedding a senator, check.

Between pages, a thought. Hers was a fantastic idea, far better than any I've had this summer. Icing the market’s sugarplums, and stowing them underneath our borrowed beach recliners. As the sun bathed us in UV waves, we’d pluck a plum from the crinkly bag and relish the cold, the sweet, the tart. Then we plunged in the pool, sideswimming happy children and their 'noodles'.

I felt very William Carlos Williams, very much transported back to the assembly that started our high school Mondays, where the assistant principal would read us a poem at the podium, her voice husky with weight. Otherworldly, for some reason that I do not quite understand, devouring something so foreign to my day to day, and so oddly perfect because of just that. I had never tasted that amazing taste, but many before me had. I was struck by that, I am still discovering all the time the limits of what I know at odds with what I think I know. In my mind, a broken, beautiful record of poetry that I did not pen.

“I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox


and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast


Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold”

And then, as my shins burned unbeknownst to me, a repeat of my own sugarplum dreams in which I fantasized about my future as near as tomorrow, and what it may bring, or rather, what I may bring to it.

6 comments:

Anonymous said...

I like that poem

Lynn said...

That was a subway poem. Do you ever read those? The ones on the train that Barnes and Noble posts--Poetry in Motion? I think it's my favorite one in their series so far, so charming.

Anonymous said...

that weekend sounds delicious. Great prose!

themarina said...

Funny, they have "Poetry in Transit" here and they're always snippets that do nothing for me. I love this poem. Would love to see it on Transit on my way to work. Just a little reminder of the other things in life.

K said...

I have seen the poetry in transit--but not this poem yet. How cool! I really love reading those on the subway, it's nice to have something so open like poetry in a closed, cramped and usually dirty space--I'm a fan of that campaign!

KGT said...

Very nice post...from one sugarplum fan to another.