look! i wrote something!
So I wrote this in MC 271 (Constitutionalism and Democracy) last Monday. Incidentally, I need to leave for that class right now. Kim gave me courage to post poetry in my journal by leading through example. (i.e. All the cool kids are doing it.)
Long Walks on the Beach Leave Footprints in the Sand
For AG
Why are we walking
along the sandy sunset
hand in hand and lips on lips
when we’ve left behind him and her
and we’ve left behind buttered rolls and stickily sweet jam
in favor of dirty feet and salt-stung eyes
of fish, washed up on the shore in the last storm
of spiders, scurrying swiftly across our path?
Why are we digging,
white, grey, tan, brown, black grains beneath our fingernails
my knees aching, scraped raw
rather than moist and clean from rose-scented soap
your fingers blistered and building calluses,
not soft and sensitive
though, perhaps still strong enough to fly freely across the keys of the piano
shaping a sonata of our smiles?
Because the sun is low, brushing the sea,
lighting the sky pink as the walls of the bedroom I’ve left behind
and beautiful.
Because the water lapping at our ankles
is cooling, tempting, and engulfing us,
a reassurance that we’re alive.
Because as you squeeze my hand
and I squeeze your hand,
the breeze tangling our hair,
we know that we’re not alone
listening raptly to the dusk.
Long Walks on the Beach Leave Footprints in the Sand
For AG
Why are we walking
along the sandy sunset
hand in hand and lips on lips
when we’ve left behind him and her
and we’ve left behind buttered rolls and stickily sweet jam
in favor of dirty feet and salt-stung eyes
of fish, washed up on the shore in the last storm
of spiders, scurrying swiftly across our path?
Why are we digging,
white, grey, tan, brown, black grains beneath our fingernails
my knees aching, scraped raw
rather than moist and clean from rose-scented soap
your fingers blistered and building calluses,
not soft and sensitive
though, perhaps still strong enough to fly freely across the keys of the piano
shaping a sonata of our smiles?
Because the sun is low, brushing the sea,
lighting the sky pink as the walls of the bedroom I’ve left behind
and beautiful.
Because the water lapping at our ankles
is cooling, tempting, and engulfing us,
a reassurance that we’re alive.
Because as you squeeze my hand
and I squeeze your hand,
the breeze tangling our hair,
we know that we’re not alone
listening raptly to the dusk.