Night As Though Spilled From A Water Jar Poem by Bernard Henrie

Ezzard Charles splattered
your green sundress at ringside
when his left hook connected,
he won a fifty grand purse.

One summer you danced
with Bill Whitehouse;
your reflection in the gold
saxophones; shellacked hulls
of speed boats, blonde hair
like ice; the night soft
as wrapping paper;

night as though spilled
from a water jar, fan blades
spindown as you fall asleep
listening to Palm Beach rain.

That year we gambled away
father's money and you began
electro shock treatment;
a pink blush filled your cheeks
like our first cotillion.

Once each week I visit your ward.
A soft carbolic over white sheets
and scrubbed floors.
Lavender soap
beside a washcloth and towel,
the sapphire sunset
and tropical ocean no longer
abrazing your skin.

I think of you with a sweetness,
shoulders wet from tropical dives
under a light frost of seaborne sky
and surrounded by thrashing palms.