Turquoise waters,
the color of my eyes, you said,
that day when tardy winter came
filling the trees with snowflakes.
My bare arms were cold against
your warm hands as you wrapped denim-clad
arms about me, your Hemingway Cap pulled
over your ears.  “I love you,” you said. “Me,
too,” I replied.  You laughed, but I cried,
releasing a tear that cracked the
moment it touched my cheek and shattered into crystal
pieces. I awoke and hugging me were green muslin sheets;
caressing my cheek was a goose-down pillow, soaked cold
with tears.  Your plane, the uniformed men had said,
went down . . . in the . . . Atlantic . . . nose-dived into the
deep, turquoise waters.

© 2000 Freeda Baker Nichols
Third Place, Rosa Zagnoni Marinoni Award, Poetry Day 2000
Published in Poets’ Roundtable of Arkansas 2002