I drive to Rehobeth

Not long after he leaves
bundled in his fury, the soft mist like
twilight he leaves on my skin long
evaporated what’s left the hard line chainchoking
slither smoke numb, I dress myself anyway, quicken
my step to dress and pack the baby, sure all the same
of the lightness awaiting my day.

The weather coincides I am blown with it
out the door, it is feisty day,
iron skied a feisty sea, and beneath the quarrel in it
on the some brief moments
the wind whips die, there is clear, calm
reflection. A quiet benedictine sweet.

I am reminded of a poster I bought at an earlier Artscape
with Walsh. I am reminded of church steeples against
the alter of the night, orange blush and at least a cranberry
colored wind on the skin. Hot and cool like that, Baltimore is like that,
I am reminded of fireflies at dusk, berry stained foot bottoms & hazmat
can fires, the upper bay mudflats of the shore, the intoxicant salt seeped
deep enough to be bloodstream. I am reminded of Home.

On my drive back the bay is so many different shades
of midnight blue there are doors in it. It is a day in which
I spontaneously cry & laugh & feel good because I do.

The dog squeals at the door. This morning I walk
with the baby and dog to the creek
nervous the whole time the dog
on no leash. There is a rope we tug on
made of the different languages we speak
I mean the ones that the other/s do/es not understand.
It is dark in that creek. Roots of cypress rise like knees
or fingerless hands. It makes my knees weak. I think
about what a bridge would look like, the threads it would require
and tastles it would have to take, the movement of swinging boards
and also all that lies underneath.

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