Looking out toward the ocean. In a reflective mood. Scooping up the sand. Letting it pour out through the spaces between my fingers. Feeling the presence of other things. Perhaps shells. Perhaps pebbles. Widening my fingers to let them pass. Feeling the years pile up. Questioning future possibilities. Is it too late?
(1)
slipping through my fingers
sand
and other things
Deep autumn. Driving by a shrine. In a narrow space between two buildings, a ginkgo tree. Tall. Massive. Its leaves vibrant yellow. Posing beneath it, a group of men and women. All with golden hair. My imagination runs wild. The connections I make.
(2)
blonde on blonde
Swedish tourists gathered
under a ginkgo tree
The hum dum routine. Driving my wife to work. Driving my son to daycare. Driving to work. Working.
Driving to my wife’s work. Driving to my son’s daycare. Driving home. Driving my other children to soccer practice. And dance practice. Driving home.
So much time spent in the car. Driving nowhere. Driving everywhere.
Everywhere young girls in school uniforms. Waiting on corners. Waiting at bus stops. Flipping their hair. Checking their makeup. Rolling up their skirts.
(3)
lifting her skirt
touching her thighs
a passing breeze
Is it me? I don’t know. I don’t think so. But then. There is this thing beside me. Growing. Changing. It answers. Occasionally. But more often. It glowers. It’s a phase. People say.
(4)
the growing silence
in the seat beside me
my daughter
The last train. It’s a deadline. Be on time. Or walk home. From here. It’s a long walk. It takes time. From here. If I walked. What time? Would I get home?
After a few drinks. It’s mild out. The breeze. Unseasonably warm. Looking at the sky. Sharp points pierce the black. It might be nice. To walk home. So many things could happen. Along the way. Or possibly. Nothing.
(5)
starry night
the train I didn’t miss
the adventure I did
On autopilot. Moving. Being. Where I’m expected to be. All the time. And then. The lights go out. Looking back. In the dark. There is nothing. Nothing to report. Nothing to say. Nothing to write. But the truth. Dull as it is.
(6)
another day
comes to an end
without a word
I tell a story. The 90s. The 20th century. To my children. It’s a horse and buggy story. Why didn’t you use your phone? They ask.
What phone? I ask.
What phone!?! My children are confused.
What did you do? They ask.
For fun? They ask.
When you had nothing to do? They ask.
(7)
strolling
the way we used to
scroll
As always, thank you for reading.
