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