A lark
Above the dunes,
a torrent of notes on the seaward wind.
Rogue Waves
The sign says:
“Rogue waves can
Appear with no warning.
Never turn your back
On the ocean!”
I remember a seder. My first Passover. Watching the full moon out the car window as we drove from Ann Arbor to her home in Flint.
Somewhere in China, or more likely New Jersey, there are printing presses churning out miles of enigmatic ticker tape reading “An admirer is hiding his/her affection from you,” and “Simplicity and clarity should be the theme in your dress,” and “Your ability to accomplish tasks will follow with success.”
I learned from my mother how to pack for long vacations, channeling the night-before excitement into neat piles of socks and secret surprises for the journey. How to cook over a camp stove, and eat food I’d dropped on the ground. How to swim in my underwear, and bathe in a bucket.
You’re lying on the cool wood floor of your dining room, beside the china cabinet, almost under the the table, in the fetal position, sobbing, moaning “I don’t know what to do! I don’t know what to do!”