Fire Island Sestina
The dog swims out to them and gives a kiss
to each one, wild with joy, the ecstasy
of surf and frolic and fighting the drag
of waves almost too much for him after the walk
we took, far away down the beach, to share
the morning air, the sea cold, the sky like smoke.
As we head back together I smoke
something like my last cigarette and kiss
this or that neighbor hello. Our share
fronts the beach, and our cook gives Ecstasy
to just about anyone who’ll walk
in heels on his back—chiropractor drag.
From the steps, I look back to where the drag
of my toes had gouged the sand. White-gray smoke
from the hibachi moves down the boardwalk,
intimating an early lunch of kiss-
shaped chanterelles and lamb chops. Ecstasy
is having things to eat and more to share
with my favorite guest, Sharon Share-
Alike, whose intimate style of drag
has so much to do with the ecstasy
of her laughter—as pale as the blue smoke
from a debutante’s cigarette, or a kiss-
print on your pillow. The dog will not walk
up the dozen steep steps to the widow’s walk
(having tried once, and fallen). So I share
the commanding view without him, one pink kiss
of cloud above so dense and bright it could drag
the light away from the sun. . .or scatter, and smoke
the pale blue with haze from east to west. Ecstasy
is having things to see, and more. Ecstasy
is seeing Sharon, newly risen, walk
along the shore, trailing her gauze and smoke
like a sober Zelda, head high, to share
this last, flawless, late-summer (“What a drag!”)
day with the island she loves, and to kiss
a boardwalk full of lovers goodbye. Share,
and share the ecstasy of loss as they drag
her onstage for “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes,” lost in a kiss.
.
Max Cavitch is a writer, teacher, and photographer who lives and works in Philadelphia. His most recent poems, aphorisms, and translations have appeared in Brittle Star, Grand, Philosophical Salon, Politics/Letters, and Stone of Madness.
Stone Poetry Quarterly 