littlest sail

when i decide that the (once in two years) (its been a long time) lunch date with c just isn’t enough hangout time on this brilliant weather day, so when she asks want to come sailing with me and my brother? i say

yes 

it would be different if one of us was very big, n says but we’re not , as we decide to go out on the water together this time, three of us on the littlest sail boat i have ever seen that he had just taken down from the roof of his (small) car and assembled in the sand, with the help of a red-faced pot-bellied jet-skier

i am wearing a pair of c’s boxer shorts that we find in the heap of a closet /otherwise known as the back of her car, (leftover from her latest move from nola), since i mistakenly didn’t come prepared for this adventure

watching the south bound amtrak train glide past us on its tracks along the river, noticing how small and peaceful it’s giant loud machinery looks from my new vantage point on the water

talking to the baby seven weeks! the way i would talk to an adult while c is bouncing her to soothe the crying
sleep is your best option

identifying where it came from

identifying the pain in my right leg as
a bruised adductor muscle, (or strained or pulled) but not identifying where it came from, (the pain) only aware of the aching that this morning
extends all the way to my ankle.

walking,(limping) with s to the store and when we’re about half-way there is an explosion of thunder and the rain plummets down. is this okay? she asks and we both just smile, shrug our shoulders, and keep walking, occasionally singing my favorite new song that i learned over the weekend.

after most of the storm has passed, we are on our way home splashing through puddles in sandals for the first time this season, feeling the warm puddle water on our feet and the cool rain still dropping on our heads.

 

tall green muck boots

 

in the dream there are a lot of people on the dock and we are about to get on a raft.
we are told that there is a forty percent chance of capsizing, but we are going anyway, and i am worrying about which part of the journey to prepare for – the beginning or the middle or the end  – and so with five minutes to spare i decide to run back to get my tall green muck boots,
but before i sprint off, i point to a large quiet man in the crowd who is wearing suspenders and dark denim work pants and i whisper to the people next to me, ‘see, he’s our guardian angel’

when k and i decide to put on lipstick just to walk up the gravel road in hiking boots and summer dresses to watch the sun set over the lake, and in between catching our breath on the climb up the hill, we sing.

the feeling of alive that is when wind is gusting over my goose bump skin, just after jumping into cold quarry water, and getting out again
almost fast as i went in.

 

dangling our bare feet

four in the bed laughing, and my eyes are still closed half sleeping, what’s funny is the poem s is reading aloud, and when c uses his poetry voice, and that we all jumped on each other to wake up early on a sunday, and then everyone’s exclaiming lyrics from songs trying to remember that one about the morning

the dried lilac on the dashboard and the banana peel in the cup holder and the beet juice stain on the steering wheel as i’m driving the back roads, passing the small stretch which curves to the left, down a hill, where the japanese knotweed shines particularly bright green and red growing over the guardrails, threatening to take over the pavement

when we are dangling our bare feet over the dock, the cold water lapping up against our toes, with our shoes and socks strewn on the wooden platform and the hood of my sweatshirt is up, sheltering me from the wind.

a woman runs up and asks, out of breath, in a whisper – did you turn off the tea water before we left?- to the man standing next to me at the concert in the barn and he responds with a firm nod and her face relaxes, because the concert is almost over, the last song is being played, and there would have probably not been any more tea water left.

not sleeping anymore

walking down from Table Rocks,
(which are enormous table-y boulders with a spectacular view on the Mohonk ridge) I ask out loud
so how did that happen?
the rocks. arranged like that.
something to do with water? j says and I nod because water must have had something to do with it.
but the rocks! I wish I had more pieces to the geologic puzzle.
the divine majesty of god? j says and I smile.
oh yeah, I say. and I repeat it, ticking off
water, and
the divine majesty of god
on my index and middle finger,
two of the pieces of the puzzle.

at about 3 o clock last Thursday, e, who is four (and a half),
spontaneously starts the whole pre-k class chanting
the people, united, will never be defeated!
as they are putting away their blocks,
dismantling the giant sculpture
made for the toy whales sleeping, (not sleeping anymore). I join in.
all of it makes me smile in a way that I haven’t all day, and my eyes are really big and heavy all of a sudden and I almost cry just a little bit,
because these are the people I have to count on,
to put away all of the blocks, at the
end of the day.