Coin In The Cork

Did you really imagine that the champagne cork would hold the bubbles, tickled against your nose, inhaled, expecting taste with closed eyes, breath of a memory, stored with the photos, still whole, coin inserted just so, to have and to hold, all worldly goods…

Did you really think that, paused in time, time would pause, hold the sparkled scent, corked, as it were, effervescent smiles in frozen pose, dancing into the unknown, wondering, wondering, hopeful…

Did you really understand then that hope is gaseous, elusive, needs catching constantly, requires work and give and take and would you have recorked, back then with that knowledge, for fear of coin slipping from inverted hub…

Did we really, in our wildest imaginings, if ever wild they were, and they were wild, believe that all the corks and celebrations would link, create the raft, float us homeward, always homeward, adrift at times, paddling, questioning views but always homeward…

Did we know and would we have cared or believed that for every celebratory cork we would also drink of pain and swallow loudly, gulping back that first dance, want to shuffle off the floor, till we knew the music changed again…

And did we dance. Oh, how we’ve danced! And drunk from champagne bottles by the neck, exploding corks to atmosphere and airy, practiced expectations, rejoiced and wept and found the means to keep the bubbles scented in the cork, the coin still holds.

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