When time stopped, at some point between

frost on the grass and the break of summer,

 

there was a day when we all went to the river.

I packed my swimming costume, optimistically,

 

given it was the end of March. I was in a good mood,

smoking again, my body was so wonderfully young and

 

I was so certain it would last. You smiled at me,

maybe knowing what I was thinking,

 

maybe knowing that I was wrong. It didn’t matter.

You sent a football across the swollen grass

 

with the tip of your toe. When I came out of the water,

I took off my bikini top and wrapped a rough towel

 

around my naked torso. It was too cold to dry skin 

in the sun. Later, we drank sweaty supermarket ciders

 

until the sky grew purple. It could have been any time

that holiday. We looked at each other as you lay in his lap,

 

your eyes shining. The sun drizzled into the water.

We knew the next day would be the same.