I like the way the water seems to go the right when the wind comes in from the east.
And when I look up and squint, I’m reminded subtlety of a winter’s tree.
Barren branches just at the top and a bird giving a low, lonely call.
Within a second I’m reminded of where I am.
A place where the screeches of mowers are never-ending and the sun always shines.
The longing always remains though— to have a break from the heat and for it to be so quiet that I can hear the falling snow.
you were swimming with the sharks, Love
did you feel them when you were up above?
you minded your business and they minded theirs
lifeguard left his station but you didn’t care
you were swimming with the sharks, Love
how did all that danger feel?
not much different than your everyday?
you really are so brave, Love
after it tempted me with its stalky teasers
showing me its many scarlet hats
I saw her camouflaged behind the leaves
dull brown hiding her ruddy brown
with her head looking down
I heard her call out a song to distract me
then watched her fly away
broke my heart she didn’t want to stay
I felt the friction like a cat’s tongue
hesitating to taste what’s on my finger
cooed sweet baby words in its ear
to get him to linger
drove under the dopey gray clouds
so tired from the day
and told big happy lies to myself
begging the sunshine to stay
her skirt blowing in the wind,
next to the cliff, next to the ocean
her gnarled foot making the rocks,
the sand trickle down
flashbacks of her ballet time
her foot against the edge
and
the crows flew sideways that day
she looking out with eyes closed
wondering if tomorrow she’d be so brave
flashbacks of her walking away
A few days ago she held the branches like a parasol – shielding her face from the heat she once loved, lived for even. This same woman used to plant her face against the icy window on a February afternoon – just to sense its glow. Close her eyes and envision the red. Remember the way grass felt under her bare feet – lick her lips recollecting the smell of water leaving a garden hose. Mutter under her breath, wishing winter to leave – she was sick of seeing dead leaves.
This woman now settled in the place of perpetual summer – feels the all too familiar chill to her bones. She puts on extra layers while the lizards lie like statues at her feet. Watches the hawks bounce on the January winds and forget that she is driving. Digs out her grandmother’s quilt from her closet (the quilt of pale random squares, playful tufts of thread, and white downy backing), and she will remember the sweet dreams of her youth.
Winter found its way to her, and she just wants to be warm again; be happy again. She wants to remember what hopes brought her to the land of palms. Stop cursing the march of time. Mutter under her breath, and wish winter to leave – she was sick of certain memories. Be grateful that her winter really isn’t winter; except for right now.
washed ashore, no breath left. rocked to death, their
life emptied into the torturous sea
that swallowed them. promising them lives, but
it brought them back against the wood, against
the rocks. their pale faces charred from the sun,
their thinning brows white with salt. their hopeful
black hair tangled with the splinters, their bones
rattling, their bones done. I pray God saved them,
even if they didn’t believe. please let
there be some mercy in that mystery.
but I’m afraid there are more coming, more
running, being chased, fearful, while ever
so mournful. lost ones being swallowed up
by the sea, washed ashore with no breath left.
gently place the bow to string. tiptoe on
ice, nearly silent.
how do you do it?
appear and then leave almost without a
trace, but I witness your shadow depart.
I reach out to air to find no one there.
here, nearly silent.
how do you do that?
startled yet grateful that I saw your face
the other night. I haven’t seen it since
1988. kind eyes, more white than
blue. slow to smile, but when you did you meant
it. what a gift to have seen you in that
man, a stranger, walking past. walked slow in
that fog of numb I entered in hoping
the illusion would last, but looked back to
see you walking away. tears pushed their way
through, I had no choice but to feel them. felt
a breeze grace the nape of my neck, close my
eyes and continue – startled yet grateful.
I wore a flash ring on every finger.
seven bracelets on my once small wrist.
grew envious of how well that boy looked
wearing the black floral dress standing there
by the pink roses with an expression
I couldn’t name. how it oddly made me
miss your shadow in the night. how it made
me mutter under my breath like a spell.
stirred the craving to be young again. but
sometimes the memories can be cruel and
deceiving and I harshly remember
the beauty never lasts and never will.
The Tape House 