Seascape With Unknown Man
Where beach curve folds inward,
salt bay mingles with fresh cove,
And a creek crosses, just as he arrives,
a man in white shorts and polo shirt
on the opposite bank; only one
good stepping-stone between us.
An hour-long minute’s silence, then he waves,
invites me to step first, then his turn,
silvered hair, blue waters ruffled, green
marsh grasses. If only I had a camera,
I’d want to take this feeling, this man,
as if he were my father,
as if we could spend a beach day
flying a kite, our hands on the string
but I turn and meander inland
until there’s nowhere dry to step
and backward returning, my sudden
friend pushing off his metal dory.
Tide’s coming in, he comments,
unships his oars and rows up-cove.
Painting a Silk Tallis
So much blue into so much green
makes an ocean. The brush
my right hand logicks, bristles
bent over white cloth,
its fluid load lagging waves
my left hand sprinkles
kosher salt – all of me in one
gesture, one moment, the synagogue,
ears empty of distance, shell-sound
of the refrigerator.
Holy, holy, holy.
Jonathan B. Aibel is a recovering software engineer who lives in Concord, MA, traditional homelands of the Nipmuc. His poems have been published in Barrelhouse, Chautauqua, Pangyrus, Lily Poetry Review, Cider Press Review, and elsewhere. Jonathan’s chapbook, Echoes of Uruk, was a semi-finalist for the Tupelo Press 2024 Snowbound Prize. http://www.jbaibelpoet.com.