top of page
  • Writer's pictureAnne Mitchell

My diver whispers...

Weightlessness. A Caribbean winter of forgotten fins, Stingray stares a barb of trust through us, you knifed him freedom from a net, and snared a heart. Fin kick through r.e.m. to a quay in Barcelona, Zorro rescue from a gangway, a maiden whisk to a Belle Epoque balcony, golden Lilys vined in iron, steep me in a marbled Queen’s bath, paint siestas in Rioja. We cafe chat about some World Wide Web, the miracle of a Macintosh, you, secure to settle in microchips, I read Hemingway to wonder how he wrote in his cups, certain I would never enjoy a bullfight. You propose we continue with Tempranillo, teach ESL until I sail awake, the barb untangled from aquamarine.


bottom of page