Longing for Casita del Marby Gillian Nevers
It was prettier painted rose. A Mediterranean color
against the turquoise sea suited the small hotel,
where each year they paused on the landing
to watch white light flicker across the water.
They never turned on the air conditioner, murky with mildew,
but cooled themselves licking salt from their bodies,
a silky breeze played across their skin.
In the shallows male luminescent threadworms swarmed
through an aura of glowing greenish white
toward a bright undulating sliver of light.
They slept lightly, aroused by the gecko––
geck. . geck, geck. . geck. “Is he in the room?” she whispered,
not knowing anonymous couples coupled
in downstairs rooms, no ocean view, rented by the hour.
~ first appeared in Miller’s Pond
