Cliff Face - Matter
In my only other set of clothes, I go out into the dawn. Everyone else in the hostel is sleeping, the courtyard finally quiet. I pull my hair back, knotted and sticky with humidity. The strength to walk comes to me when I see the ocean, and I go down to the edge where the tide is starting to recede. I head north, away from all the buildings, the sleeping presence of civilization, along the line that separates wet and dry.
Once I'm far enough, once the footprints disappear, I stop. I have high cliffs at my back, shadowed and speckled with red winter brush, and in front of me, the endless water. I watch the the waves wash in and out, scraping the sand clean. The waves that connect the whole world. The waxing and waning of the moon, the salt breeze that feeds my lungs. That all of the water in the world, at some point, touches this beach, and that if I touch it, I am connected too. I imagine myself melting into the sand and being carried out into the water, my body separating into a thousand different grains. I think of the child that will never be, the waxing and waning of my belly, that matter can neither be created nor destroyed.
Back by the hostel, I buy a fish taco from a stand. Fresh shredded cabbage, lime, avocado. I cup it in my hands to keep everything in and eat, smiling, and crying, letting the sauce drip down my arms.