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Close Call
by Sheryl Sirotnik

Thrown back into the world
A long marriage
Gone wrong.
Determined to call this
A beginning she
Answered ads,
Lonely men looking for sex
Or occasionally,
Company.

She met poet,
Must have been those
Years in San Francisco
Late fifties
Beat vibe and jazz,
Her affection for poets.
She wanted adventure,
Freedom, she was
Drunk on the very thought.
This poet had stories
behind his eyes.
She told herself it was
Just a fling
Nothing serious.
Drove to his island
Rimmed with new fallen snow.
He surprised her with cooking
In his little cabin,
Also with the ironing board
Propped against the wall.
Asked her if she wanted
To walk under that fat
Full moon, the tide
Pulled back so far
The water disappeared.
They could see their breath.
She was full like the moon on
Wine and good food
When the sand reached
Out and grabbed her,
Drew her laughing down
Some rabbit hole
Until she couldn't move,
Laughing harder with each
Downward inch.
The poet had big feet
The biggest she had ever seen
Kept him from the rabbit hole.
He was strong, able
To wrestle that sucking sand.
A giant tug-o-war
Each one claiming her
And her laughing
And laughing.

 

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