These writings straddle the fine line between myself and my alter ego
She would wait until the day
before it rained
To go to the beach
Walk in the hot sun
and wait for the rain clouds to line the coast
and wade into the crashing waves
Because they were always
best just before the rain.
She would lay and watch
the birds as they
circled the sky
chirping and swirling
and diving into the water
at the trash flowing up to shore
Trucks would drive by
slow down and watch her
bathe in the sun
Some knew her
by her constant presence
And lone figure.
She carried the same bag
the same surf board
the same swim suit
And she knew them, too by
their trucks and
but she made them pass
no matter how far she had to walk
she did not want to really know them
not by name or face
But let them blend into the grains of sand
And blow by
with the seagulls
and the stray kite some
poor child had to chase down the beach
I feel them crawling on me
One on my arm
Another down my blouse
Right on the stomach
Digging through my hair
I try to sleep and
Right on my ankle
The itching continues
Like tiny bugs that
For a moment
I see them
Gnawing on my skin
Dozens of them
In a random pattern
Each going after a piece of me
I always slap at them
Always scratching them away
But they won't go
Drowning them out won't work
They play in the soap bubbles
The F'n Bastards
Lost at Sea
Nothing so soothing as the crash of the ocean
The glittering blue slowly fading into the sky
A steady breeze drifting through the hair of my arms
The world seems endless right there
It all stretches beyond reach but seems just a step away
There is not alone in this ocean
I am always surrounded by some living thing
A creature passing by
part of a sophisticated cycle
On a journey from thousands of miles and now by me
Or a collection of California Orange bags
What sort of ship wreck was that?
And it's all drifting in the ocean together
As the waves turn over and over
Forming faint images of a body being tossed around
Helpless and limp
I can see a glimpse into the eyes of the lifeless man
Dead yet pleading for rescue
Breaking apart into the crest of the waves
He fades among the torn purple Orange bags
Perhaps seeming to reform again back in the same spot
He swims back and forth
As I watched for the face in the crashing ocean
A seagull came swooping in
Pecking at the man's eyes
Flying off with a fish
And there are twenty more of them just to the left
Squawking over the feast
The Itch (unrefined)
"Honey" I looked up and said to my husband of two years. He was the exact same age as me, just two days apart. It was not the usual meet-fall in love-get married type of romance either. This knight was dark and elusive. I may never know if his heart was ever purely for me but up until this point I knew I could trust him. His judgment was always a little better than mine in most areas. If you forget that he's incurably socially awkward he seems more like the type of man you want to have in charge of things.
I was looking at the creature that crawled on my arm. It had a crab head on a crab body that was morphed with and scorpion's body and tail. The thing was on my left forearm dancing its little feet up and down in a random pattern not moving from its spot. The tail was flicking quickly in the air in smooth jerking waves. I made eye contact with it. For a moment my heart completely stopped and the only life I knew was in the eyes of this marvelous beast. The eyes were a roomy black with emotions that I was sitting right there feeling. There was fear and tingling and knowledge. I was far from knowing peace locked in this gaze and yet there was no torture staring back at me. It seemed as if forever had passed before my body took over and caused me to blink.
I could feel the legs as they danced on my bare skin. I wanted to scratch my arm but I was afraid. What if I could really touch it? What if when I reach out to scratch my arm I feel the claws of the monster scrape against my fingers? Well I can't very well make a scene over this. My husband is standing in the next room fully able to see my actions and lord knows he doesn't need this.
I have always itched. I have always felt that something was crawling on my skin causing the slight tickle when I am alone in a room with no wind and nothing is touching me. The paranoia left me some years ago and now I don't look when I scratch. Sometimes I still want to, though. The curiosity is always there.
"Honey!" I called out louder this time. He was in the office area. The living room was open to it like a great room effect that was popular in the 20's. My husband had buried himself in his work. There were O-rings and lubricants and engine parts that I could never identify. He was always trying to come up with a more efficient way to do something, a cheaper fuel to burn. His hands were covered in grease and his clothes were wrinkled and stained with the labor of his work. Recently he had become somewhat of a shut-in. When the plant closed down there was more time to get ahead on his new model. Then he had less time to find a new job. It is a very good thing I still have my work. He would not know what to do right now. He would be lost in his experiments, I just know it. And I know him better than anyone else.
I was sitting on the couch watching him patiently put things in order on his big oak table. That table was a steal! It is amazing the things you find on a Saturday morning. We passed a yard sale in a more uppity side of town. A family had just lost everything and was selling what they could to satisfy the bank. They were nukes, too. I saw the table under a display of linens. It was simple enough to decorate with a fancy cloth or center piece but standing alone it was strong and glorious. The craftsmanship was so flawless on the smooth legs and corners but it was the architecture that made it special. And it was solid. I remember the mosquitoes being particularly bad that morning. It was not the best start to our anniversary. At least he still had his job then. The electricians are always some of the last people to get let go.
Finally he uncovered his towel in the clutter and was cleaning up his hands. Light from the curtains was leaking through and piercing through his hair causing the auburn to explode with radiance and emit a translucent ruby glow. The sun was setting behind that curtain and there were complimentary oranges and reds pulsating through the cracks. His eyes met mine and I felt helpless. My entire being belonged to him and as the blood raced through my veins and across my body I began to itch with such violence and passion that again my heart stopped and I knew only him. In his eyes I saw love. He had discovered something but he wasn't quite there yet. There was just one more thing. And he was happy about this. He was about to share with me but he knew that was not what I was asking of him. He opened his mouth and with a jolt everything began again.
"Yeah? Sorry, it's a mess in there...I got caught up, what's up?" Elevating the end of the sentence with interest in me, alertness, and fondness. I reached up with my left arm and rotated it left, right, left, staring at it perplexed. I looked at him with a look that begged him to tell me the truth and not ask questions later. I took a casual breath and glanced at my arm with a loose, calm, and not even caring about the curious-tone to my voice to match the look and asked, "Do you see ANYTHING on my arm at all other than the material of my shirt?"
I glanced at him expecting to hear a 'why?' but he just looked at my arm with his head slightly tilted, blinked, looked at me, and shrugged, "No. Not that I can see." His eyes telling me if something were there it must be gone now. I smiled at him, locked in his stare again. I always melted in those eyes. He smiled back at me as he turned to go wash up. It was our anniversary, Feb. 17th, and we had made dinner plans. I looked back to my arm, alone now, and smiled at the creature. It had been watching my every move. I relaxed a little and looked at it closer. It didn't move, it didn't blink, it just danced in its place. I stood up with my arm folded across my chest in front of me but not touching myself and walked into the bedroom. My husband was buttoning up a shirt, his hands still wet from the washing. I went to the dresser and gently scooted the Crab-Scorpion off my arm and onto the dresser top. It danced around gaily, almost cute. It looked playful and excited. I bounced my fingers in the air around it a few times as it tried to pinch me, but it was all good spirited. It chased its tail entrancing me and not knowing I was being closely watched by my husband.
"Exactly what are you doing?" He asked me nervously only breaking part of the spell. "Well," I began with a sedate tone in my voice, "if I swat at them they only get worse. When I am nice to them and play with them I find it is much easier to get around." I then stopped tracing my fingers around the spinning creature and walked lightly into the closet, leaving it on the dresser waiting for me, about to crawl on my husband.
She's not an alcoholic