Water:

sustains,

removes,

quenches,

drowns.

—

The first boy I loved dove into it

From a Boston bridge to embody a poem

written too young

an idealist, Van Gogh-obsessed

Wednesday before Thanksgiving.

Moons ago, organizer of ocean tides.

—

And you, sister, new friend of too many years

sank beneath its surface to escape

pain you’d tried to escape many, many times before

leaving pain in those who tried to keep you afloat, and

those who didn’t know you were no longer reaching out

or skimming the surface or treading, but sinking

fervent fingertips out of reach.

end 6/28/2016

©S. Darlington