novembre ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- foam, sand, kitten on the way to the beach we let the wind whip our hair through open windows, driving slowly past her old schools. she described a soccer field filled with a thousand children at lunchtime, filing haphazardly through the one door left open in order to return to middle school. to the building so gigantic and imposing that i had no problem picturing her that small. the high school was flat and sprawling, and cats wove through pathways as we passed. boys practiced twirling batons in a lit hallway. we walked along tidy little sand dunes, hunching our shoulders and watching the sky. in cities, you can only see the brightest stars. she explained that the blue blinking lights were actually clusters, entire galaxies of stars. planets do not twinkle. they stared down at us from their meek distance. san franciscan beaches are level and dense. the sand is fine and tire tracks leave flowering indents. at the water's edge we watched foam sit on the packed sand, wobbling in the wind, plastering our shoes. further up the where the beach rose into cliff i wrote her name in wet sand with my shoe. couples skirted us and she told me how it feels to be sad, but to be in love and mostly whole at the same time. maybe i will understand that one day. a group of frat boys circled a bonfire, drinking and aiming fireworks towards the surf. their little tails whipped brightly in the dark wind.
i pulled my hat tightly over my ears and watched her watch the ocean; i watched the city ending around us, the different decades of architecture mashed together in the low skyline. wind pulled us away and i felt like foam. i watched them huddle together to court the kitten, discussing bottles, sleep, and warmth. she can't walk yet but she can pull herself along. 1:08 am - 03.31.04 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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