The hardest part of softness

Is letting the harsh war of life

Break you into it

Perhaps you wonder why I finally met with her

She sat across from me with her lips pinked in

Her hands sort of stroking the black leather of her purse

The hair was round brushed and tucked in like it had been groomed that very morning 

She complimented my half brushed hair sort of wildly sitting there about my shoulders 

I think hair and shoes have a way of reflecting a person and mine were leather and covered in paint splatters and hadn’t been polished in years 

We both ordered the classic, with coffee

Discussed Christmas picking at our over medium over hard eggs 

She sat there, 

 rye bread torn apart so she could eat the stomach of it 

Explaining her daughter and grandkids inadequacy (when compared to how she would do it)

I remember how she explained to me the way her daughter wiped off the counter, leaving little streaks of water to sit on the surface and how she could never consider that correct 

I told her

Someday that will be me, 

and I will also not keep my yard as nicely as yours was 

So please, then, do not judge me like you’re judging her hedges 

She responded as if she never would, ever 

And how she understood people had different priorities and it all made sense. 

I did not believe her. 

I don’t have a lot to offer 

But I do believe that whatever you do have to offer 

(At whatever capacity, that is—big or small)

It should be given 

This, I believe, 

Is how you live life in a way

That is full. 

She sorta sat back into her hips and let her eyes at it

The door was open and Plainfield was busy that day

It sat there, propped against the wall and I wondered if it felt embarrassed with all of the eyes 

A few artists names just fell out of her mouth 

like cuss words might on a sailor 

Like artist names might from a curator

It didn’t bother me 

Because I knew all of their names well

And felt quite professional being compared to them 

Her hair was flipping out everywhere, a section shaved underneath and her hands were dirty 

But it didn’t matter 

Because she saw it 

—What I was saying 

It might be today 

—The last day

What a rare gift to wake up 

Like he may not 

To be able to be given another day to make the world better 

If we can 

I forget too often that each breath is in fact 

A present 

And too often it takes someone dying for me to remember how incredibly grateful I am to be breathing 

Today 

I folded the earth 

It was over top of the bulbs 

Tulips and anemones 

Next to the dahlia and the peony bush 

Sometimes the best things take such long extended preparation 

And dirt under the nails 

The fire he built inside felt like winter 

It was so warm and alive 

Much like the deep part i uncovered 

There where i found a worm, thriving 

Hidden down below where the earth still felt warm

“I LOVE YOU” I scream from the shore 

It carried out onto the river 

“I have 30% battery,” he says back, and I hear everything. 

“BUT I LOVE YOU” I scream back. 

“I love you too.” He says, as he checks his phone for service, battery, switching it back to airplane mode. 

I think men and women are very different. 

Hooking up the trailer to the Jeep, he left the heat running for me with the door open, my emergency lights on, and 80’s music on high. His favorite. He always turns up the radio when it’s a song from the 80’s. Usually it’s too loud for me but he dances to it and I let him until I can’t handle it anymore. 

I picture him On the pontoon, the rain falling over him and his bright colored beanie, the engine faltering like it does, with his paddle in hand just in case

I drive the Jeep with the trailer over the The speed bumps past the skater boys skating in the rain into the park where the boat launch is. 

It is November and we are procrastinators. 

There are ducks there 

And one steamy beige car with two men smoking

Max calls me twice on the way to find my location and drops me a pin and texts. It is all within 10 minutes. He instructs me on “how to maneuver the trailer.”

I maneuver the trailer just fine, thank you. I’m doing great. 

We live on the river. He climbs from the pontoon knee deep, his eyes focused on the job. He does tell me that I did a great job maneuvering the trailer and I accept the compliment. I think I surprise him a lot actually. 

He climbs out, hair wild and mustang like I like it. He is really quite handsome. I remember how much I like him. 

He takes off his boots which are full of river water (I empty them and tuck them under the heater in the car) and he climbs around in his black socks; he checks some things, soaked to his knees. Getting all of it adjusted, putting the anchor in a safe location,  handing me his wet socks, he finishes barefoot. 

“Yeehaw,” he says, climbing in, content. 

We park the damn thing and it takes forever. I’m annoyed if I’m honest. It’s raining and I’m trying to help & I’m cold. Sometimes he tells me how to direct him and I hate all these things. I want to complain. 

I feel the spirit suggest that I simply thank him. 

And so I do. 

And the rest of the afternoon carries on just fine. 

The wool jacket looks like his skin, worn in like it was of daily use. It was black, heavy like felt, heavy like the expression on his face. His shoes were leather, polished of course and his hat was sharp as if it had been ironed. Well fitted, well cared for, and if he did not own many things, and as if each thing fit perfectly in a box. 

As I exited the coffee shop, I began writing this. I noticed the way he looked up at me, the look was through me—as if I too was part of the book he was writing on millennials and their new dangled ways. 

I saw an old man there, but also a little boy; mixed with a little fear mixed with a bright mind like a tulip. His apartment, though dusted was probably carpeted in books with little articles taped to the walls that he felt were relevant. 

 He seemed like the kind of man that if he saw Blue Heron he wouldn’t really see a Blue Heron, he would see an essay or an Ode to the river. And I️ very much liked that. 

What wonder! what incredible opportunity! 

Another day to live and love the world!

When you scream something 

Over and over louder and louder 

It is obvious 

You dont believe it yet. 

Fishing is a silent sport 

We pass them, 

There is a brief nod of acknowledgement as they turn their reel 

I cannot tell if it is respect in their nod, or if the silence is simply a language that says 

I fear you will scare the steelhead away 

There is nothing bright about the river

It is North

Dark

Sprinting with river weed and salmon 

Dead leaves 

The fishermans eyes gloss over, flirting their line across the skin of the water, reeling it in, repeat

Waders pulled up, thick like Tupperware 

Tight to their nipples 

Large like clown pants 

While we skim by like blue water bugs with paddles

I saw a blue heron plummet from her branch like a novice ballerina 

But watching her sprite forward into the sky on two wings 

Was enough really 

To make me love the river 

To tear something down is much

Much 

Faster 

Easier, even

Than to build something up 

I will never leave you.

I am going to start saying no to you. 

& it always means yes to us. 

Only one

It is so hard to pick up all of these pens 

So many pictures to write 

All of the world

Can come at me

And only a few trees make it to paper

A few gasps of air 

Pieces of dandruff

Hums of machines 

And that is enough because I am only one life 

Good morning

Some misspelled " good morning " today by typing 

"God morning" 

And I figured, 

How appropriate.

Fear

I went many years saying

I will not cry

Nothing will affect me

I will only fix all of this

I can

But

Now the smallest things 

Make me feel broken 

... 

I bought a peace lily today because the green makes my house sing and I feel like keeping pieces of Eden in nooks and crannies of your house can up lift 

Bring you home

In a way 

I looked around for someone to help me with it, to tell

Me the name of the plant as the tag had fallen off and I didn't know what it was called or how often to water it and how

Much sun it needs (I need so much sun, and feel wilted and damp if I don't get the amount required on my tag)

So for this reason I knew it was essential to read the small print 

To know someone is to know how to care for them

A lady saw me searching 

She said "what are you looking for" with sort of a rude countenance as if I was doing something I shouldn't 

"Just someone who can help me with a plant, the tag has fallen off" 

"What plant" 

"I don't know what it's called, the tag is missing" 

She followed me over to the plant

Touch its base, its leaves, feeling the soil explaining that this was a Peace Lily, giving brief instructions on care with sort of a black and white countenance 

There was no gentleness 

No

Ability to read me

Like she had read tags

But I understand

This is just how some people have managed

To carry their own sorrow

I thanked her. 

I

Bought it. 

... 

I don't know if you know what it feels like to be alone, to live in fear for most of your life 

For someone to not read your tag but instead think the cure for sensitivity is to reinforce harshness 

As if somehow that will cure you 

Let me help you. 

It does not. 

... 

Two men saw me fumble with the plant in the parking lot 

My cart was blowing to the left and the heavy plant was hard to

Maneuver 

I could not see over top of it

The wind carefully blew it over 

Spilling its dirt out on the pavement 

I saw a man on my

Left 

On my right 

Walking into the store

I expected "oh I'm so sorry can I help you" or 

"Oh my goodness, let me help carry that for you" 

But like with most things I've felt my entire life 

They watched me 

Frantic

fumbling 

Thinking in their head how I should get a lesson on how to steer a cart

Spilling out in front of incoming traffic 

And they walked by not even acknowledging me

I heard from somewhere deep inside

I

Must 

Do

This 

Alone 

There is no one

So I fought the cart the wind the doors of my car

And as soon as the both of us were safe inside

(I named the plant oscar) 

The tears came back 

Sometimes

A person can be this close

Your skin on my skin 

Your lungs on my lungs 

And yet I am still lonely. 

Grandma and Grandpa : what really happened

Even the most profound people 

The people who have taught you how to stand and held your hands between theirs 

The people you have physically watched age

The people who have fed you and encouraged you to get education and have even paid part of your tuition can make mistakes 

Even they can 

Overdress for a woman who is not their wife 

And deliberately plan to leave all of it behind 

Even they can fantasize about a life that is not their own

And once this plan is found out

Once everything falls apart 

And you are still left with three children 

And the woman you almost betrayed 

You can spend the next 41 years of marriage suffering under her wrath

Rubbing her ankles and fetching her medication and standing next to her hospital bed as she tries to die 

... 

Bitterness can kill you too

If you cannot let it free

It can sit quietly destroying you inside your ribcage as you feed it 

Slowly it can climb into your bones 

And turn your eyes 

And build fluid around your heart 

They can call it heart failure 

Everyone else can just think you are stubborn and quietly they say it under your breath "she's a stubborn old bird" as you toss your medication across the room and threaten the nurse if she tries again 

Nobody knows you have 

Lived and breathed 41 years with a man who once tried to walk out 

Everyone thinks you stopped sleeping with him all these years ago because of the snoring 

But really it was because of her. 

... 

There are two sides to every story. 

Grandma

Wasn't it last week 

We huddled on your couch and you let me cut your hair discussing how your mother always told you eventually you have to leave room on earth for your grandkids 

I saw a few long hairs on your chin and tried to cut them too without you noticing 

You said "sometimes I just ask the good Lord to take me" 

But also discussed how you're trying to cut back on sugar (attempting to lose the extra weight) 

----- 

None of us can prepare

For the last day

Only for the one we are marinating in 

It is also her heart

You can force no one to live 

Say all you want to to manipulate her to eat

But you cannot force anyone to use their esophagus 

__ she learned how to kill herself this way from her brother 

A woman

Someone once told me, 

If you want to learn about a woman

Ask her to tell you about her Mother 

So I asked her, tell me about your Mother, what is she like?

"She is a lot like you, actually" 

She replied, brushing her blue hair past her shoulder, and looking at the wall. 

"Oh yeah?" I asked. "What do you mean?" 

"Well, she is adventurous. And you feel safe to be yourself around her. And one time, one time we went to a movie, and she cheered outloud during a scene." 

__the way students perceive you

.

I asked God what he thought about it 

I said "God what do you think about it?" 

& He said 

"You must love still" 

& 

"I've already taken care of it." 

First glances

It was in the aisle at meijer 

I immediately sized him

Up 

His rouge beard hair, shaggy salt and pepper hair hidden under a hat, a Jean jacket from the 80's tucking him in 

I thought he must be looking at flowers 

Hopeful to find just the right thing to woo a woman in his single, discontent, disheveled life 

Passing him, I took in the details

And found quickly it was not blooms that had caught

His eye

Instead I found his head was cocked upward toward a bookshelf, and as I passed I glanced in his cart to see it full of birdseed for wild birds 

And I thought

I bet I would like this man 

I bet he has a lot to talk about 

Spring

There are some who understand the way of the geese 

The north

The south

The going 

Wild with wind

Loud with bellowing 

I met a woman who had geese in her veins 

If you saw her you would know

"Yes, yes, this is who she spoke about. "

I don't know why they call them wild geese 

Aren't they all wild 

Stranger, friend.

"Hello"

I say simply, using his name. 

He never looks at me. Even now he looks past me at the chapters of cookies lining the back wall and I wonder if he even heard me. 

"Thank you for serving today," he says, letting the wind of his suit coat brush my arm. 

It is always this way, 

Even

Last week when I touched his wife's belly in the dessert line and remarked at the color of his childs hair and how dark it's become 

Still his eyes travel past me, never on me 

Never resting on me 

I wonder sometimes 

Have I offended him in some way 

Or is it his careful way of making sure to stay home 

Or a habit he's created to protect himself from further conversation 

Maybe he hates small talk as much as I do

Tom.

There are always ham and cheese sandwiches sitting there on clear rigid trays 

The ham is pink, flesh 

Dead, unmoving 

Probably sitting there overnight in the fridge covered up waiting for today when everyone will walk by carefully touching the surface 

Weeping 

I see her press her head against his chest 

It stays there 

Going bright red and wet within seconds as she chases her chin up and down as if saying yes

Reliving a memory they just shared with her 

I can see her crawling beneath the sheets 

Trying  to see if his scent still lives there 

Wishing she'd never complained about the crusty salsa bowl

Or the dirty boxers left out in public places of the home 

Faith walks by, says a few words about her grief 

Her eyes are puffy, & well up with water 

She is balancing a plate of salad 

With a ham sandwich, the bread sitting on it crookedly 

I wish I could fix it

all of it

I heard two stories today 

One about how he trained for Israel 

His large frame steadily moving

Preparing 

His hair cropped across the top like a stage 

And how he tromped through the backyard to his neighbors to find the high schoolers skating on an ice rink 

The music blaring 

His intent had been to shut them down 

But as he stood there, watching (it was two a.m.) he realized that boys will be boys and I think he remembered being their same age once 

He simply waved 

Said how you boys doing 

And turned, Tromping back over the yard to home 

We all stand 

Arms crossed awkwardly not look to hovering or brooding but also 

Not too happy at the same time 

We hide desserts in back rooms carefully selected 

Casually walking passed the tables of salads 

And ham sandwiches 

Hoping the carrots will be gone so we can refill them 

There were plenty of sandwiches left 

I'll have you know 

Homer

There may be death in this lifetime 

Grief 

An abundance of weeping 

But 

When I am captured by this 

May I find that still there are pine trees 

Unending clouds trading shapes 

Let me find the tangled hands of branches 

The organ of the ocean and how it beats and beats and beats on the sand 

I have found that mountains are the same as anxiety medicine and the warmth of sun, consistent like the way our body ages or the way a wave can change the texture of a rock

This wild earth can tame a soul 

__ how Homer changed me 

Homer I love you

When we got here there were a lot of things happening 

Lindsey putting pieces of her ex husband back together in the other room, bits if electricity running through Jana's body, her, draping herself carefully into the bathwater, the room smelling like eucalyptuses, damp like after a rain. Emerging, she embalms herself in a full flannel pajama set and sprawls across my bed, whittling a series of thoughts together. 

Jeannie, is plugged into a wall, attached to a devise sucking her breastmilk from her very soul, reading facts about Alaska, about caribou, discussing the size of her belly after children. She sits there with her soft skin exposed, her long dark poneytail climbing over her collarbone down past her boob. 

Maybe it is not Homer that I love but the people who came here with me

Space and how I don't know what to do with it

Actually 

I told them 

Maybe you didn't think I would. 

Maybe you thought afterwards my organs would flood with peace. But instead, I'm terrified. 

What if my importance landed in that title, "teacher" 

What if without it I'm not really all that valuable or able 

What if I'm quitting because I'm afraid? 

What if I don't do photography because afterwards I'm waiting for a flood of applause and I don't always get that and so I quit it to "not do so many things" "not be so busy" 

But really it's because it often makes me feel like a failure like painting and hair also does 

... 

Or maybe God is asking me to 

"Make space" 

For people and intentionality, so my womb can hold a child, so I can exercise and not feel as though there is no time no excuse 

So I can cook my families meals more, and have space to be safe 

Warm

Cozy. 

Available. 

... 

Another lesson 

That my worth is not on what my hands produce but In the fact that I am 

Made in his image. 

Erase

"But what on earth will you do with all the pencil lines? "

She asked, next to me. 

"Will you erase them?" 

I looked at her like I had no idea what she was talking about. 

These mistakes

These pencils lines 

They were my favorite part. 

Abstracts.

I saw all the shapes of you come together 

The pink

The rage of red from childhood as the people who are supposed to lead you fell apart 

You taking your little hands trying so hard to fight for them and put it all together, I too understand this. 

I see the blue of your lake, the long swim that stretches out in front of you until you believe all that you're fighting against believing

I see the green of your fear and how it frames your loneliness that is shrinking

The line you've been waking that has been so confusing as to how you ended up here hopeless 

And the yellow and orange fostered in your belly that is tight like knots next to this purple, the hope that I see in your future as you slowly let the knot of your hand loosen

You do not see it. 

But I do. 

You

Tender like a donkey

Pink like a girl 

With a delicate 

Rose petal

Lions roar

.

I sobbed as I finished the story 

I put it off for an entire day 

Because there were three pages left and I knew how it would end 

I was wearing my purple swimsuit and laying across my floral towel and I knew how very girly it must sound with me sniffling there

The surfers were to my left proclaiming the waves small 

Pointing now and then as someone took one in anyway

Their arms folded at their middle 

For hours 

I had sunglasses on

I let out all the noises 

Hoping they couldn't hear me over the waves chatter 

They would understand if they had gotten to know Will Taynor like I did. 

.

Pockets full 

The moon a tiny thumb nail 

We did something 

We've  never done before. 

The eagles were there. 

Crater

I don't know how 

We became close 

What with this gigantic crater sitting between us 

Somehow we got to the place where you send me photos of yourself remarking how very long I've been gone and I think what you might be saying is 

"You can come back now"

// 

He knew me when I was bad off 

When I couldn't sleep and there was a demon sitting politely on my forehead 

He knew me when my entire world was becoming unsewn at the seams, and I was frantic to put it all back together running here and there after my brothers my Dad seizing in the hospital while my mom was a puddle 

And she was always the strong one 

Little affected her 

During this time I turned against him most. 

I half expected him to save me and for him to love me enough when I hated myself 

// 

Shoulder to shoulder 

For years we didn't talk about it

The crater between us... slowly it became smaller 

And smaller 

It's still there , a few unspoken things 

I'm still a little afraid to be weak with you

But once when my brother was taken in to the hospital for his mental breakdown and I lost it in the break room you called me sweety and touched my arm and let me cry 

You told me a few days later you were praying for him

And I always believe you 

You don't have too many words and so when you speak I believe you 

A couple things unbuckled then

//

The reason I don't tell you everything: 

I feel I must balance what you've already learned about me from way back when

I'm embarrassed

Maybe I still believe you see me this way. 

But it's probably not true. 

// 

You came over to help me unpack recently 

And fold laundry 

It was weird you sitting on the bed surrounded by baskets of our things 

talking about underwear and sorting socks 

You were still dressed from work 

Just popped on by to help me get caught up so I could come out that night  

// 

You are a real friend

Loyal

Interesting

Challenging 

I want to tell you how much that means to me. 

Despite all the things you could think of me. 

And don't. 

..

I like to be safe 

So when we arrive to the water fall and the water is green and cold and max mentions cliff jumping I feel like I'm shrinking 

He cannot wait to try 

He tells me to photograph him and he strips down to his coral striped suit and flicks his hair off his forehead and goes for it 

With vigor

I feel like I might throw up if I didnthe jump like he does 

He watches someone plunge from even higher and I hear his whisper 

I have to do that 

And I wilt 

Steadying the camera

My pulse quickening 

Hoping I don't have to carry home a quadriplegic all the way through the airport into Michigan 

(Maybe I'm thinking of wheelchairs and quads because of this book I'm reading, I'm not really sure. It's a romance novel okay. Nothing medical or about wild birds or South American waves so don't seem to interested.) 

I like to be safe 

But I also like to make people happy 

So I jump in 

I waddle over to the rope swing

I take a dive 

I swim to stand under the waterfall while he takes a picture because he wants to take a picture but I do not cliff jump 

There are a lot of people watching after all

And I cannot let them all down 

I let the water dribble over me and tell max that I feel as if I do not cliff jump he will be let down

And that is not the reason I want to do it 

He looks me in the face and tells me to look at him closely 

He says I don't want you to ever do it for me

Ever 

Only if you wanted to 

And so I put a towel on and remark how very cold I am all of a sudden and very done with the water 

I'm sure I'm entitled about lots of things, even kindness

For some reason I feel as if you actually feel entitled to be harsh with me if you don't understand what I'm saying

__how to resolve an argument when it's not a big deal and your both just hungry really

I step out of the car 

We've already had our eggs and sausage and coffee and he goes to pinch a loaf 

I'm in charge of the car so I gather everything 

A crowd of asians gather near the sand talking about how it's not sandy here,

How the bottom is rocky 

And then they go off in their dialect 

I act very local 

Walking past them without reserve 

Carefully stepping over sand with glass in it 

Positioning myself next to Dolly Parten 

(I'm serious, it might be her) 

She's wearing a headband to cover up her blonde fake extensions and 

She's wearing a purple bathing suit with tassels 

Lots of lipstick and Botox 

She gathers herself and moves

Into the sun where everyone must pass her to notice and where she can do the most damage to her skin 

"Your paintings are lovely sweetheart" (I might be adding the sweetheart part, it seems like something Dolly would say) " I was an art major in college, I used to love going to the zoo to draw animals, have you ever done that sweetheart?" I tell her no. Sometimes I'm not nice to strangers. I'm trying. I hate small talk... it makes my cheeks hurt. 

Anyway, 

He comes back 

The bathrooms were locked 

He chooses a teal 

Shorter board for his surf today

And steals my hair band to put his hair in a low poneytail 

He announced earlier today 

How attractive the waves are as we drove past the cows

I love this about him 

The preoccupation

The hobby 

His zest for the waves in a way I understand but a different form 

He uses them Under his body

I use them their shape their form their voice 

For paper 

For 

Words, paint 

Two dogs wander by looking lost and without owners 

But collared 

One with her utters looking full and inflamed as if she has just had children 

/// 

I feel a little out of control when I cannot read the emotions of the person across from me or on the other line 

I say the wrong things and he stiffens 

Across from me 

/// 

We talked about it sensibly of course 

He went surfing 

And I read a book 

He tried to discuss the speaker system inside the passenger seat of a car driving by and we walked past the taco stands and the tall jungle around them. 

I didn't really respond. 

/// 

I plop all of my things down into the sand 

My toenails are too long 

And my hair is stringy at my shoulders from the saltwater 

What are you reading 

The local asked me 

Tipping his finger toward my book 

I show him the cover 

He raises his eyebrow either to say 

" I'm not impressed" or 

"Never heard of it"

And even though he's a stranger I wish I was reading some book about wild birds or South Americas tide or something so he would say 

"Wow how intellectual of you, really" 

My butt is half showing because my suit has ridden up and it's awkward picking atbthat sort of thing while someone is staring at you

My cheeks are hurting again from small talk 

and I forget my sunscreen so I have to trample past him 

(Trample is how I feel, especially after the book incident) 

/// 

The fight was about surfing 

I was hot 

I wanted to get in the water and bob around a bit 

He abliged after suggesting a surf lesson from someone else and I said no 

My top came off 10 times in 10 minutes

Showing my bare breasts to the two young teens surfing next to me 

I was trying to paddle into the waves, communicate with max as he hollered instructions and also hold my freaking top on 

I caught one wave on my knees. It was nice. I hope max was thinking how sleek I looked up on the board holding my top on. 

Then I told him I had to go in

I was sick of showing my boobs off to anyone within ten feet 

So I turned the large 9 foot board toward the shore 

Max hollering about the rocks and the coral and such

A brief recollection crossed my mind of the taco lady from the cinnamon colored taco stand

Flailing her arms around while she deep fried corn tortillas

pointing toward the water talking about the young man who died last week on these rocks

My arms and legs started shaking as I paddled in, eyeing the sharp corners of the reef and rock under me

Adjusting my top so both of them were concealed hearing Max's voice get smaller and smaller

At the same time praying my life be spared 

(I forgot to thank him, thank you God for sparing me) 

I pulled in like a student driver who just flunked

The rocks were slippery and the board was heavy and blue like a forget me not 

Somehow the saltwater had pulled every ounce of snot down my lip from my nose and I had no arms to wipe it away 

It was right in front of the surfers tent that the tide decided to bring me in

They all stared at me 

The gazes glazed over 

Im sure they're either high or 

asking themselves if they should help me or if that would be even more embarrassing

This poor young new horrific surfing student I could hear them saying shaking their heads 

I stand tall and strong as if to say 

I'm not embarrassed 

I'm new 

I'm learning 

But the snot is everywhere now and I can't see because my hair is dangling in my eyes 

 

Not only that

It was their board I have and here I was dragging it on the sand trying to stabilize it with my hand while the cord wrapped around both feet tripping me 

It's freaking heavy

I almost tripped and fell 7 times before I took the cord off my ankle 

The Velcro hissing like fabric 

I felt dumb 

But surprisingly 

Upbeat. I didn't need their approval and i was beaming with joy that I still had all my limbs and that I had tried 

Max was frustrated. 

I didn't know if it was with me or because he was afraid I was going to kill myself 

I told him over a taco 

Up beat 

That he hadn't done a bad job teaching me 

When really i should have said, 

You did a good job 

Because it made him even more upset 

So I told him I needed a minute because he had seemed foul the last hour since we had crawled out, I said 

Wet and salty

But maybe it was me who was foul 

I asked myself 

But I felt upbeat 

He stated how he thought I'd probably never try again while I assured him I would and how happy I was that I did 

I was very upbeat, did I mention that part? 

But he was not. 

I scrounged around for reasons. 

I hadn't lost the board or the key yet. 

I felt I must have disappointed him or worse 

Made him afraid to ever try teaching me again, 

As he suggested,again,I take a lesson 

From 

Someone 

Else. 

We talked about it sensibly of course 

He went surfing

I read a book. 

__how to resolve an argument when it's not a big deal and your both just hungry really 

My friend, the Sun how I love and hate you

The sand is dark here 

Sort of the color of a camels butt

Not white or khaki like some beaches

Dense and damp 

With a clay consistency 

There is no one standing around combing the beach of all the dead leaves 

There are spots where the sand is packed down from traffic

Feet sluffing over and over 

The surfers with their thongs made of wet suits and the men with their golden hair, untamed, unbrushed 

All of this lends me more understanding of my husband 

And myself 

--- 

I guess I like that

The sun shifts his weight around 

That throughout the day you have to move your towel a bit if you don't want to come up from the beach the color of a rose petal dipped in lipstick 

The back of my legs have already taken a good slapping from the sun and I was in shade so thank you my Irish heritage 

I wish I could get blasted by Sun

Laying full out naked absorbing every ray 

Because I'm always so bloody cold 

I think this could solve my problem 

Instead I'm hiding from it so I don't spend all of tomorrow in bed

Bruised from the raking of its fingers over and over my thighs 

I wish I could hug the sun but you're probably my thinking like my husband does 

That is just ridiculous 

February sometime

The surfers 

They all do it 

Stand at the edge with their hands draped over their board or on their hips and they watch 

The waves crash over and over

And over and over 

I wonder 

Are they looking for a pattern 

A voice 

Some sort of established behavior of the maverick waves

Or are they afraid 

Finally they say yes to whatever it is 

they through their board down with resolve 

It takes the skin of the water 

It glides 

They go with it

The white of the waves clean them thoroughly 

And somehow 

Out there

They become alive 

Really 

--- 

We wake early this morning 

Our morning breath birthing out all over the room 

The alarm shreaking

His body rattling next to mine in search of it with half closed eyes

Well, should we go

He says 

His voice full of scabs and cobwebs not yet cleared 

Yesterday he woke me up just as a fullsized bunny was about to be placed in my hands I was so eager and excited and had not even felt it's fur

Throwing our legs over the bedside

Collecting our swim trunks 

Binoculars 

Keys 

We leave 

His board resting against his waste

My hair flopping in the wind like I like 

Unbrushed and salty from yesterday 

He goes about attaching the body of the board to the top of the car

I help him with the strAp like I always do from my side, the metal piece clunking the lid of the vehicle as I lunge it across and climb in 

We arrive at a little coffee shop

Always first 

Before the waves 

We meet someone from traverse city 

We hear the Hiss and Huss of the coffee machine we open windows we take to the beach 

We situate the towels 

Rub sunscreen deep into his back 

Pull his hair into a poneytail

I watch him the entire time carefully sneak peaks at the water 

It is teal this morning and alive with grief and story and caffeine 

And then he stands

Mumbling about the different breaks and where to get in and if they are clean (as if someone went dusting them this morning)

I nod as if I understand. 

He stands up, face lighting with the sun and the saltwater beckoning

This is where I see the surfers stand. 

Right at the edge. 

They all do it. 

Their hands draped over their boards or on their hips

And they watch the waves crash over and over over and over... 

Brother 3

If you decide to be homeless 

Taken by drink 

If this is what you will

Choose 

At least

Brother 

Let me take you to a place 

Where the sun is high and hot 

Where we know you will be warm 

Where no one will find you 

Frozen and without color 

Where you can search without gloves 

For exactly what your body needs 

I'm just lazy and introverted really the waves are too chattery

I would be a surfer I think if it means I could bob around in the water like the rest of them leaning in on their boards like theyre beds in the water, the water  carefully trickling over their shoulders and waists with their bums in the air and if it meant I never had to ever catch a wave or exert energy standing on said board or if it didn't mean I could fail over and over on the waves I would join you every single day husband 

Until then I will lay here with my book and my ginger beer and enjoy the exercise my eyes get watching you

Max

He is the kind of man that will not even notice if I wear socks with sandles 

Or my bathing suit top has not an ounce of black in it but I'm wearing black bottoms 

He cannot even tell the difference of makeup and no makeup because he isn't paying attention 

He would prefer me undone 

Careless with my shoes and tops

Hair loose or tight without curl or excess 

Skin flushed with the outdoors 

Or scarred with paint 

Mostly he is looking for joy I think

Rincon, Puerto Rico

Every single girl here 

Shows half of their butt 

I hike up the back of my swimsuit a little to look a little more local 

There is a swing here 

It is hanging from two ropes and from a branch that is well used and broken off 

It's a wonder they trust it 

But they do 

They keep smiling 

Each of them carefully draping themselves on the swing 

Taking turns for a picture 

Their blonde hair swinging here and there 

They're all smiling

Their butts showing 

--- 

The waves are not careful

They are violent and rash 

Yet calm and concealing 

They hold surfers 

My husband 

On the skin

And tropical fish in their belly 

It is a wonder that under the skin it is so calm 

So soft when we are often so violent within 

And so carefully smooth on the surface 

 

Bread and butter

The way the sun takes its knife through the trees

The butter of the woods 

The bread of my childhood 

You'd think it was the opposite.

But 

Somehow

Something about the over abundant constant chatter about one topic 

the constant 

Exclamation point 

The making sure everyone knows it's what you think and what you believe 

The loud and brazen content that's always clattering out says 

I'm really not yet sure of it myself. 

Ray

I don't say hi 

I know he doesn't remember me and 

It's ok 

It was over a drink when I said hello 

and my little brother says he comes there 

Religiously 

Ever single day

To hover over a scotch or a tequila 

Shoulders watching the room

The lapping dark hair falling loosely at his shoulders 

There is something there 

A poet or a musician 

Cradled in his fingers begging to be let out 

I've seen him rescue a bouquet of flowers twice now

Once, he ran after them 

His thick glasses rattling on the bridge of his nose 

He took them 

Even the drooping ones 

And stuck them in water 

Hopeful he'd get to squeeze a bit more color out of them 

I think

All those years of not crying

Of pressing them all into some room in my stomach

For years bidding them to stay back, stay alert, stay controlled, stay happy

Years

Of hoping I could hold them there 

I think that room has a slow leak now 

And it seems I cannot stop them 

Every winter there is a harvest of them 

The clouds bid them free 

My story bids then free

My family bids them free

Conflict or confusion or anger 

Bid them free 

I hope they aren't all going to waste

I hope they are falling on soil somewhere

Growing something 

Mom

She knew how to bend the soil 

Into color

How to scare off Starlings and squirrels from her bird feeders so they wouldn't eat all of the food that she's left for finches, chickadees, Michigans robins

how to press her flowers into books and make roses flat like paper and somehow still hold the color red

This way you could

Keep them forever 

She knew how to hold her hands just right when folding bread and the perfect amount of flour to turn it over and over like waves 

And sometimes I wondered what all of this was doing for the kingdom of a God 

All this beauty was it enough

But every time I look at her I feel like I'm looking at Jesus

Have you see her wrinkly hands?

The way her skin has changed with years of pressing on us, lifting us, scaring away the squirrels 

She has built mountains

And I can see it now 

I want my hands to look like hers 

..

I go walking past 

My floppy hat flapping onto my occipital bone and 

He

Looks

Me

In

The

Eye

Reading my face. 

"Is everything well? How are you? Have things gotten better? How can I help? What do you need?" All in a glance

He says it

 as he continues his current conversation. 

5

I take a collection, all of it 

The way it felt when my brother shoved the burning stick in my side and wasn't sorry the way my mom taught me to hover over a public toilet like her mother taught her the way he sounded, screaming, when I couldn't get to him and it was only a door in the way and could it have changed everything about you now if someone had stood up to them 

& the way I have tried to change my mind about God and still feel the need for surgery still the fear it seeps in sometimes and I see all my split ends my cellulite my humanity

How do I say all of it in five minutes 

.

I have been affected by many things. 

But this. 

This is the most. 

I have felt this shovel move me. 

Today

Today we saw two fat men near the same towel 

A red headed boy with a waitressing apron in which he collected shells near the edge of the ocean, he went around swinging his arms like a seagull, wetting his hands and entertaining himself with his collecting 

Two men, shoulder to shoulder, the banana republic type 

Umbrellas vibrating in the wind, leaning into it

We saw a wind surfer who knew the waves and the wind like someone would know a daughter 

I find the clutter of a boat yard lovely,  all of the boats cheeks slapped with rust or patches of fresh paint and dingy windows and grunting fishermen, grunting buoys, grimy nets 

The pelican, bursting with coveting and pecking at each other with beaks and beady eyeballs