7 December 2005 | Vol. 5, No. 4
The Holy Waters of Penzance
One weekend in June, we rushed
The shore, hoping
For a mass baptism, one
Might guess. We wore nothing,
And she carried the saddest look
Of anyone in that crowd.
Let's not be coy here: it was
Specifically a Sunday and
It was June. 1997.
I remember these things,
Because that year
Was supposed to bring us
A son; that, and because
A squirrel shouted it out
To me when I was alone
In the park. Which occurrence,
The squirrel or the child,
Actually happened, is
Completely a public call.
I was saying: she wore
A congealed stare—Hope,
Wearing sunglasses, so as
Not to be confused for Hope.
She joined us in the sea.
If this was not an ocean,
Paparazzi would be hiding
In Mulberry trees, having decided
Which lens to use where; how
The light hit her neck, as she
Bent to the water and gave in.
About the author:
Sam Pereira has published two books of poetry: The Marriage of the Portuguese (L'Epervier Press, 1978) and Brittle Water (Abattoir Editions/Penumbra Press, University of Nebraska at Omaha, 1987). His new book, A Café in Boca, will be published sometime in the next year by Tebot Bach. He has work in the current issue of Blackbird.
For further reading:
See the complete list of work by Sam Pereira at 42opus. Browse the contents of 42opus Vol. 5, No. 4, where "The Holy Waters of Penzance" ran on December 7, 2005. List other work with these same labels: poetry.
