The sitter
The water hasn’t
looked this clear in years.
The sun hasn’t shined
this much in days.
The wind hasn’t swept
through like this before
and all I can do is
sit in the shade.
All I can do is look
at them around
me and wonder what
they’re thinking.
I could stay under
this tree for ages.
I could sit however a
crisscrossed apple
does, or I could lie
down too. All so I
can truly see these
people. For who I think
they really are. Like the mother I see
who cannot see her
child, wallowing
in whatever thoughts
she can’t grasp onto.
Or maybe the other
mother, who holds
her child to near.
The one who envies
the kids running
around. Owning pets too.
I imagine the couple
with the monkey
prancing about, to be
solemn and cold.
I mean they stand
facing not one another
but the open sea. One
that lets them think
about what could’ve
been. Or where they might
go to get away from
their familiar routine,
unlike those soldiers
who live for it or
men rowing, who race
by it. I sit under
this tree noticing
the fluttering sails
drift along the water,
reflecting the
white and blue of the
ocean stirring about.
I sit under the tree
contemplating.
Contemplating stories
of these people
and the lives they
lead – or the ones I think.
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