nah, not really.
but those are among my favorites.
cool, clear nights are pretty swell, too.
and warm, soft nights, with leaves rustling, and moon shining.
mornings, on the other hand,
well.
mornings...
could be any color of the rainbow and I would feel about the same--
they're grand--
as long as I'm in bed, undisturbed.
Jack Johnson makes me want to be barefoot on the sand.
in a long skirt, with my hair loose, curls brushing on bare shoulders.
sun smiling back at me,
as I sway to its rhythm.
yes, the sun has a rhythm,
much more distict and soulful than the 24 hour cycles we see so clearly,
outlined against the night sky.
you have to stop and listen--
with your whole body, not just your ears.
but I guess that's obvious...
if you're in-tune enough to know the sun has a dance-able rhythm,
you would probably also know that you'll feel it in your limbs,
taste it in the back of your mouth, like carbonated silk.
I think that this is why crazy people aren't crazy...
just operating under the truths they make for themselves.
It's unreal, how I'm becoming the person I used to imagine I would be--
but in all the small ways,
the unexpected ways--
the unimportant ways.
like piercing my nose
or having black hair
Both of those things were things I wanted,
but didn't consider as real possibilities.
I hated my nose,
and wouldn't even consider dyeing my hair.
I also used to wonder,
as a teenager,
what it might be like to be confident,
comfortable in my own skin--
secure.
now I know.
I wish I could go back and whisper to that girl...
to hold her hand, walking down the dirt road to Lucia Beach.
and tell her the secrets of her future.
I would wink, as I breathed out the silvery words, "sex is as wonderful as you think."
I might even take a chance on her,
and encourage her to make sweet love to her first love.
I'll never have that chance...
my first love, my last love.
same name, same fate...?
I miss that teenage girl,
that innocent, sassy, respectful little thing.
It's strange, really--
the juxtaposition of those two aspects of me.
I am a hopeless rebel--
and an incurable brown-noser.
The latter has always kept me out of what little bits of trouble the former has created for me.
it's a good balance.
sometimes my ego blows my mind.
I think I'm the
smartest,
coolest,
best-in-all-ways.
even though I know I'm not.
I'm soooooooooo delusional.
but at least I know it.
it rocks.
my darling dearest husband is out shopping for me...
planning something nice for tomorrow.
he's the best.
of the best.
sometimes we think we have all the answers.
sometimes I wonder where he came from,
or where I would have ended up without him.
sometimes I feel so anchored, so solid--
because of him.
I should write more poetry about him...
it's hard to let myself really fall into him,
because it would matter
so
much
if I lost him.
sometimes he says things that tear through me like a scalpel through a veil--
because he's human and he fumbles...
his realization of the wrong words at the wrong time are what make me love him more.
his retractions.
"but I love your fat belly" is NEVER the right answer, boys.
so yeah, I'm a girl.
not as often as I am a woman.
or one of the guys.
poker!
I want to play poker tonight!!
drink beer.
eat chips.
I miss being able to live life from moment to moment--
fly by the seat of my pants?
run through a week, a month, a year,
like a child in a field of wild blueberries,
on a hilltop, slabs of limestone exposed--
I belong there.
trees, fireflies
lakes
streams
pounding surf
angry winters,
lobsters,
family.
I'll visit my sister on the peninsula of maryland, though.
that'll be close enough for this year, I think.
Making peace with where I am has been freeing.
but I'm still a Maine girl.
happy mother's day,
mother fuckers.
that gives me an idea--
I should get my husband a t-shirt that says "mother fucker",
and myself a matching one that says "fucked mother".
or something totally friggin lame like that.
lame I say, lame.
It would make me giggle, though, and that's all that matters.
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