Buoy

 

Porcelain, laser-printed decals, 2014
Poem courtesy of Debra Marquart
11” X 28” x 12”

BUOY

And so you came to realize that a married man is like a drowning victim, when you find him drenched, adrift and unhappy in the vast ocean of his marriage, and you will always be the first to spot him, a floating speck on the horizon flapping his arms for rescue, desperate mouth ringing an o above the rolling crests and waves. You are on the high dry deck of the cruise ship. In your espadrilles and crisp white shorts, aren’t you the beacon, aren’t you the life preserver? And when you jump into the sea salt foam, if only for a refreshing swim, you understand that he will seize upon you, strong, buoyant swimmer that you are, grab your shoulders, pull your head under with his weight, so dense in the water.  And down among the reefs and coral, with your new copper-coin eyes, you will see how he rides on the shoulders of his water-breathing sea horse wife, and his mermaid mistresses, those water nymph former lovers, and a whole tag-team pyramid
of three-breasted women who have tried over the years to save him.  Even then, next time, when you see another one go under, does it give you pause, does it stop you from jumping in— no, not once, not ever.             

© Debra Marquart