(based on Monet’s “Terrace at Sainte-Adresse”)

I am just such a man
who sits alone on latticed chairs
of afternoon terraces
considering the bay.

I don’t much mind being
the only tourist here
who truly notes the bobbing
white boats in Newport Harbor.

Overhead, a blue sky
and breeze flap flags
that salute red flowers
hedging my forever moment.

Pairs. Today’s word.

A couple holding hands
their backs against the view.
Two sweeping gulls stitch
their betrothal from left to right.

Almost everything fits, I think.
Even my absurd shadow.


Shades of Lily Briscoe in To the Lighthouse, the writer takes the air at Newport, R.I. recording what others do not see or appreciate. A memory of two New England fall voyages in the early ’90s. Monet’s painting crystallized the moment.

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