Swimsuit

Some years ago we
Were young and our eyes shined like
Polished metal. Back
Then we lived in Portland, where
Everything flowed like honey

From a tipped-over
Jar. Life came at its pace; we
Worked together by
Day, or at least alongside
Each other. At night you drank bourbon

Anything and I
Sipped beer. Once we floated the
Umpqua River in
Borrowed tractor tire tubes while
Steelhead jumped between us and

Greybeard fishermen
Huddled on the shore, lips wet,
Eyes tired, eager.
The shore was a hazy green
And brown, dotted with globs of

Yellow and purple
Paintbrush wildflowers. The
Water could have been
Invisible, or streaked
Choppy white, becoming a

Wide impressionist
Canvas. You wore that lilac
Bikini covered
With magenta polka dots.
I hid a blush behind my

Burnt skin. The suit hugged
You tightly as the river
Carried us under
A bridge where shadows cooled the
Fire on my face. I closed my

Eyes, picturing my hands
In place of the top, pushing
Just enough so your
Softness spilled out around
The sides of my fingers. I

Loved your skin. You laughed
And looked down the bridge of your nose
At me, through askew
Tan aviators smudged with
Your fingerprints and sunscreen.