Peaks to Portland

 Peaks to Portland

There she stands in her pink Speedo 

and white swim cap, looking skyward, 

hands raised, fingers splayed prayerfully.

All the swimmers lined up ashore there 

that morning awaited the starting gun, 

but what they heard first was thunder, 

a loud clap of it, and then an almost 

simultaneous report from the starting gun.  

Holy Moly!  Nothing for it but to dive in!  

She did. That’s what Marilyn, her mother, 

told me, as she unpinned a pastel I wanted

from the clothesline she had improvised 

to display work she needed to sell.  I bought 

several pastels from Marilyn that day, and I 

remember the pleasure I took in carrying 

them home. I looked out over the bay to Peaks 

and imagined the three miles of choppy waves 

as Marilyn’s daughter swam to Portland.

And I still like to look at Marilyn’s bright pastel

and recall the clothesline full of works she had 

ready to sell, dancing in the breeze from the bay.

—Sef, 3/23/2025