Part II

Again, too hot. Dressed in a thin white cotton dress, I climb into my empty tub, sit on the edge, and view a painting by October, my Oma’s alter ego.

All is calm in this sea scene— all ocean blues with soft grey mountains in the background, boulders strewn on the shore—  broad brushstrokes of bistre brown for jagged rocks—  but the sands— smooth, and where the water touches shore, silky.

It feels safe to dive into this ocean— and so I do.

I round a bend, jump: my grandmother sits there!

Overhead, three large seagulls squawk against a soft sky. My dear, go! I never intended you to see me in this landscape. But since you are here, I must ask— why are most of my paintings hanging in bathrooms? I thought they were gifts you valued from me?

I dig my toes into the sand. I explain they are. Then I tell her, Oma, I saw Russ yesterday in his Sails on Stormy Seas. No reply from her. He sent me away with a message of love for you. I know you loved him, too.

Finally, she says, You know I was lonely– divorced at twenty-two with two kids. Marriage suitors lined up at the door, yet I fell for my boss.

I smile. But then you bought him out. There was your opportunity.

She shakes her head. No, my dear. You see, it was never the right time to divorce a Catholic wife. I made our choice. And I have no regrets. But it is time for you to leave. And turn up your air!

She splashes me.

The salty waters reach my lips. We both laugh, then look to the sky. It’s the same ol’ game.

I start. Oma, what do you see?

She replies, What I painted, silly— serenity. And you, my dear, what do you see in your Kentucky skies?

I look outside the ornate gold and canvas frame and smile back at her. Oma, I see my serenity, too, that— the most treasured gift you gave me as a child.

An ekphrastic from Las gaviotas sobre la playa Manzanilla de México by October 1. Date: 1965. Oil on Acrylic. 20 x 24. (Translation: Seagulls above La Playa Manzanilla of Mexico.)