Monday

Monday while I was having my toes painted yellow, you fished.

On choppy waters you caught six.

(How many fish fry’s did I enjoy as a child in your home? Too many for me to count.)

Monday while I was having my afternoon latte, you were swept into the choppy water.

The lake had been your friend for all the years of your life, but on this day it selfishly claimed you for its own.

(Why can’t I get that song you used sing after Thanksgiving dinner out of my head? You know the sad one about the senoritas and the crosses and the sun?)

Monday while I drove home, somewhere under the water you roamed.

Did you know you would see your beloveds no more? Did you know we missed you right away?

You could not have heard us searching for before we even began you were gone.

Today we forced the cruel lake to return your body to us.

Your life it will keep.

Monday I had my toes painted yellow.

Never again.