Blue Breeze
When there’s no horizon because blue
is a dictator, we sail across
to the Island of Turquoise
and treat our Billie to a holiday.
She likes to have a blue-plate special
at the Blue Mooring on Tuesdays.
Adirondack potatoes with blue cheese
dressing, and a blueberry pie for dessert.
Tuesdays have a primary air about them.
Afternoons you want to punch in the arm,
hold your breath till you’re blue in the face,
stay in the water till your lips turn blue.
We scour the sand for elusive seaglass.
Maalox bottles. I think of my brother’s
cobalt obsession, the time his Chartreux
swatted the tallest vase to the floor.
When Billie asks me for some happy news
I give her my ukulele. We sail back
under an indigo sky. Venus so bright,
it glows an iridescent blue. True.
Kymm Coveney
Kymm Coveney lives in Spain, though she was born in Boston and grew up in a beach town in Massachusetts (1-4-3). A freelance translator and writer, she co-hosts PoémameBCN, a multilingual poetry recital series. Flash fiction, poems and translations can be found online through BetterLies ~ http://betterlies.blogspot.com/
She tweets @KymmInBarcelona
Photo credit @jplenio at http://www.unsplash.com
The Beach Hut 
I read your poem, got lost in it, and wanted it to go on….. I could feel the Blue.
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