Hurricane Season

Little crab in the sand. I'm half hearted. A half a heart. My own split decision. Half a man. Little hermit in a crab shell. My brain is a scramble. Pizza loving ninjas. Turtles in a half shell. What of these memories make me? They stack up. Waves against the shore. The taste of sand crystals in a sandwich. Cold bread pressed into a beach cooler. You go to war twice, the physical war and the memory. Isn’t that the way though?

No horizon line today. No clear divides. The ocean and the air must be broadcasting my insides. How can we be so bold, to have such thoughts, to think the water thinks of us, that we have any kind of mutual understanding? Hurricane season. Islands disappearing. Bottled water sold out across the land. How can I help? Sitting on a bench. Stopping to breathe the sea air. Anonymous.

You are far away, even when we lay beside each other. When we kiss - when was the last time we kissed? I am away too. I read that we should take on different roles, cheat on each other with each other. Develop a fresh language of infidelity within the confines of our marriage, to forge new relationships with other versions of ourselves.

Here’s an easy game to play: Meet me in a dark corner of our room. Call me by a different name. Don't be you. I won't be me. Would you take such a walk with me? Would you walk away with me? Could you? I feel you walking away. What if we about faced? Walked towards one another again, like we did many Mays ago. We ignored the posted signs and the construction, I don’t remember the sounds, the orange of the pylons blurred in my periphery while I traced the lines of your back to your heels, followed your long bright skirt to the rolled sleeves of your belly knotted shirt. You could have been leaning off the bow of a boat, there on the edge of eighth avenue, before the pavement turned to cobblestone, looking west towards the water. I walked towards you, waiting there, on a corner, on a street, clutching a purse. You looked up, you walked towards me.

This walk could be just a slight alteration, just a two step, a flirtatious approach, toward one another. As if we had something to gain. Don't we still? Have things to gain? I don't know everything. You should know that. I want you to know that I know that. What if we erased these expectations we’ve created, what if we ditched every default tone, what if we were open the way we were on so many first dates. These expectations are a dagger.

I arrived at the beach in the morning, on a hazy day, expecting to see the sea. I ran to the beach, peddling feet against sandy pavement. When I reached the sand the cloud-line, the haze, the mist, and the water formed a swatch of muddy white. There were no clear lines, it felt perfect, divine. We needed nothing from one another: the water, my sweat, the sea, the salt. The taste of salt. My sweet, we were one. I miss that taste, your salt. You, and me. There's a place for us, we'll use our legs. I walk towards you, my love, your horizon.