Tag: Life

Day Sail

𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝐒𝐚𝐢𝐥​
​
The tide made docking​
difficult—
I hold glowing coals​
from gripping ropes,​
my hair is a nest of straws​
harvested​
from ocean fields.​
​
I stand on the bow and watch​
you at the helm​
against a Monét sky,​
the coins of day spent,​
your face burnt and content​
​
from cranking chrome winches​
and pulling halyards amidst​
twenty knot winds:​
the sloop keeled at wild angles
clowning with whitecaps,​
and the scents of salt and seaweed​
filled our nostrils
and we soared with the seagulls.​
​
— D. G. Vachal​
​
from Vachal, D. G. (2026), The Turning of Light, (Amazon)
​

* Image: Alone by Giampaolo Macorig

We Almost Came Back

We Almost Came Back​
​
we almost came back ​
to the place where we parted​
perhaps to say​
we never meant​
to say goodbye—​
​
on an island ferry
I saw your face​
arise from a sea​
of nameless faces​
and you saw mine​
​
I sat on the brown cot,​
notebook on my lap ​
the ferry’s horn ​
blasted through the cabin ​
as we started to move ​
​
the sun sat low on the horizon​
pink and orange light​
shimmered​
across the wooden deck ​
as I wrote—​
​
I heard footsteps from afar​
you walked towards me​
wearing the green shirt,​
the blue jeans I knew​
my legs,​
they could not move​
​
you stopped midway,​
twenty steps from where I was,​
leaned across the railing​
and just stood there​
​
our eyes met​
then you looked away,​
your hands gripped hard,​
jaws tightened,
Spanish eyes peered​
into the distance,​
where the sea turned​
darker,​
deeper​
​
I waited for you ​
to come closer​
perhaps​
you waited for me​
​
I sat where I was—​
a nearby radio played​
a song we knew​
when the music ended​
you walked away.​
​
the ferry reached the dark island​
faint lights from other vessels​
flickered upon the pier​
my hands felt numb​
as I grasped the gangplank ropes—​
​
I turned my face​
towards the gathering​
monsoon wind​
​
—D. G. Vachal ©2026​

Image by Harrydona @pixabay

China Blue


Some poems come back to us differently over time. China Blue began in memory and longing, but also carries quieter inheritances—of Spain, of family, and of journeys that stretch farther back than I once understood. When my father brought his children and grandchildren to Spain, it felt less like travel than return. And somewhere behind the blue of memory lingers an older story still.


China Blue

China blue in my veins
throbs
with Valencia orange groves
sways
with weeping willows
beside the bamboo-lined
waters—

El Greco blue
lines my heart-valves
pulsates
with nightingale songs
dances
with crimson chrysanthemums
under the autumn sun—

Where the sun rises
I greet the dwindling sunset
speak the dialect
of disparate vernaculars—

China blue in my veins
and the orange groves.

D. G. Vachal ©2025

Polonaise in A-Flat Major, Op. 53

Polonaise in A-Flat Major​, Op. 53
​
The last gold of evening​
lingered ​
upon the piano keys​
after the music ​
had already ended​—
​
I come back to the old piano​
my mother used to play​
her etudes and concertos,​
the ivory keys​
yellowed by time—​
​
suddenly I hear ​
the ecstatic pounding​
of Chopin’s Polonaise ​
in A-Flat Major—​
​
my mother’s hands​
striking the old piano​
long after evening​
had darkened
​
D. G. Vachal © 2026​

Accompanying image created with AI assistance
​

Among the Jasmine Blossoms

Among the Jasmine Blossoms

a key opens
my father’s filing cabinet
locked
for so long —

the second drawer
overflows with my letters:
stamped envelopes
squiggly pen strokes
from when I was a child,
a teenager,
a young woman,
a mother —

every letter quietly kept
as a jewel
when they came to him
from far away —

now that I am near
I hear his laughter
while I walk in the garden
among the jasmine blossoms.

D. G. Vachal ©2026

Image Attribution: Mokkie, CC BY-SA 3.0 <https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0&gt;, via Wikimedia Commons