Henri Edmond Cross, Bathers III
The weather was kind yesterday. It was kind of balmy. The best day to take to the sea. I know I’m only imagining. But sometimes imagining is good enough. It really is. Try to imagine pleasant scenery and you’ll feel kind of blissful. Try it in your poem.
She wanted to purge the artificial air,
feeling quite ill-disposed. After all,
she’s paid an arm and a leg.
So onward to the sea. Ritualised
therapy, she tore off her clothes, into
a bathing suit. Tessa, look,
a bowl of purple sea!
We floated into the champagne sky.
Something picturesque had grazed
our skins, skimming, indolent,
and blissful now.
So does it work or not? Is it therapy or not?