novembre ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- erosion growing up in a beach town part one dried seaweed vines crunching underfoot. crabgrass and aloe poking up through shallow dunes. the rolling thunder of sets marching towards shore. brevity. tip-toeing out on the jetty as far as my audaciousness will let me, ankles cautiously high like a tightrope walker with no net underneath her. no net, just man-made concrete slabs to divide those lolling waves. and those lolling waves. have you ever floated just past the break line, on your back, pulled up by movement and sliding off its back headfirst into the belly of the next wave? remember walking back to your towel, your mother beached on the sand like a bloated seal, chin to one side and tucked into hunched shoulders, the undersides of her arms and legs exposed to tan? remember how sand forced its way between your toes and stuck to your thighs like sugar? remember how, weeks afterward, there would be sand in the car's footwells? sand in the bathroom, sand on the shower's floor. sand tucked into the crevasses of your swimsuit, your body, your routine. into your daily seams. 10:33 pm - 10.21.04 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
||||||