The Parting of the (Aqua Park) waters.
I was in the Aqua Park when my father was told he could leave
the pre morgue of the Stroke Ward and return to his home.
I like to think he stood upright on his bed, one foot resting
atop the small wheeled table in a forthright manner, or even levitated
above the starchy sheets, haloed in sunshine as the sun sat yoke-like
on the crest of the Dundonald Hills, raising his arms in the wide sleeves
of his striped flannelette pajamas and declaimed his freedom.
I like to think I knew this moment as the plastic slides suddenly glowed scarlet
and the child soup of the holiday pool parted, all those waters
and tubby kids swept either left or right whilst I stood in the centre
looking up through the steamy window at the holy light, whilst around me
the occasional floatation device thudded to the tiles and the smell of chlorine
was overwhelmed by the scent of jasmine and honey in the air.I like to think that, you see, now that he is home once more.