Tropical Depression

Something to chase winter blues away,
at least for a few moments while I stare.
And with the hated winter season,
all the memories along with it.

The farthest thing from winter?
The tropics.
Teaming with life and color,
and fish.

The parking lots are a polar wasteland,
with dirty, plow-made snow banks.
They serve as islands for the seagulls,
looking weather-worn and dirty too.

I buy two puny fish,
Tenderly carrying them inside my coat.
Feeling spiteful against winter,
with a tropical treasure hidden from view.

Following the trail of tires,
driving through the charcoal snow,
I make it home with fish intact.
Soon, they need more than a bowl.

Modern mini ocean in a box,
with disco color change lights,
and sexy black gravel and glass gems.
All goes well until I pour the water in.

Then you show up all of the sudden,
inside the bare spot the water makes in the gravel.
And as the tiny rocks settle back to the bottom,
So do I, into a distant and bittersweet memory.

Because now I'm a little girl sitting on the floor,
watching my daddy pour water from a big bucket,
that makes a huge impression in the rocks,
but much smaller than the one you left in my heart.

As my hand pushes the black stones back in place,
I push thoughts of you from long ago back down too,
realizing there's no haven from this tropical depression.


by: Kimarie Manhart-Freeman