emma b. says

Monday, September 19, 2005

Sea Saw

And then updside down again and round and round again, and adjectives and adverbs and history singing a rousing chorus, and in the absence of drugs and liquor , when the hour is waning and the work day looms, what can I do but praise all that water under the bridge, and all of the water spilling over the levees and all of the twelve foot deep lakes and all of the hurricane dreams in earthquake country, and the pain of tomorrow morning and the pure fire of atonement, and we atone and atone like polished obsidian, black and shiny and atone still. Burning and twirling, driving through man made ridges, where the earth falls to the sea so verily, so easily.

There, not far from the gables, next to the last hole, sun at my back, calamari at my front, date at my side, pelicans sleek in the headwinds, a wisp of fog here and a wisp of fog there, desultory tendrils lapping at my swollen ankle. And yet for all of me, I can't take his hand, and I am not going to drag him into the parking lot, because I am not fifteen anymore. But rather I drive north on one with the windows down, cliffs rising on my left, land falling to the sea on my right, striated dirt, wind in my hair, and the sweet momentum of driving everywhere fast.


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