On the Beach in RIO

by Ted King

I remember so clearly.

It was you and me at sunset, on the beach, in Rio.

Or was it you and me?

Maybe it was you and someone else.

Is this your memory instead of mine?

I've never been to Rio.

Have I?

And yet, I remember.

Do you remember?

Remind me.

Did we ever stand together on the beach at sunset?

Or maybe it wasn't us.

Someone must have stood on a beach, somewhere.

I'm not sure this is my memory.

Maybe it's someone else's.

A memory fragment that I picked up as it floated by.

Why do you look at me that way?

Please nod your head, or wiggle a finger, or something.

I need to know you hear me.

I'm sharing a memory with you.

What does it matter whose memory?

I forget. Was that you on the beach?

And was it really Rio?

I've never been to Rio.

Maybe it was Lake Superior. The North Shore.

Or that little creek.

Yeah. That little creek.

When I was a kid I used to ride my bike out there, early in the

morning.

Must have been 6 or 8 miles.

I'd carry a cane pole and some worms in a bucket.

Fish for crappies. Catch a few. Bring em home.

Mom and I would clean em and we’d fry em up.

But that was morning, not sunset. And you weren't there.

I'm not sure I was either.

It might have been my brother.

I'll ask him.

No matter. I remember. I remember You, Me, Sunset, the Beach, Rio.

___________________________


Ted King has a PTSD in poetry. Otherwise, No grants. No contests. No awards.