Not That Easy

The sound of nervous chatter

Corrupts the silent dawn

As a thousand restless bodies,

Suited in black, lithe and limber,

Swarm near the shore.

The gravel stings

Like bees beneath my feet.

I hear the gun and a frenzy begins.

Slicing through the water,

I become little more 

Than an arm here and a leg there. 

Clambering up the bank,

Wet, tired, chilled to the bone,

I claw at my shell, 

Ripping and running, slipping,

As I flee to the next stage. 

Gears whizzing, I fly

Down my first hill, wet hair trailing.

Sweaty palms stuck to the handlebars,

The air seems laced with poison;

Here the battle begins

And time becomes my biggest contender.

Skidding to a stop, my white knuckles

Grip the brakes and my knees tremble.

I find my footing, vision hazy,

And begin running.

Barely breathing, I cough hard,

Wiping mucous from my mouth,

Sweat pouring into my eyes.

I know this is the last lap.

I push my body harder

And fall across the finish line. 

Life is not like a triathlon.

Ebb Tide

The moonlight on your skin

Pollutes my purposed mind,

Distracts me once again

From the words I try to find.  

We’re perched upon the stand

Above the lurching tide;

My sandy, empty hand,

Curled, hopeful, at my side.

The rushing of the sea

Mocks my roaring heart;

The stars spin above me:

Our sand castles fall apart.

As time slips though my fingers,

You start to pull away.

The lifeguard in me lingers

Knowing we can’t stay. 

Down the shore an echo,

Whispers faintly through the night,

It’s time to go, time to go...

It’s time to say goodnight.

Silver Lining

As summer rain does whisper on the sand,

Hot kisses of an August sun turn grey.

Wet bodies scurry, sandy to dry land,

And lazy towels sprawl empty where they lay.

The yawning chairs, and dripping parasols

Gawk, shivering in silence at the scene.

A long way off, a saddened seagull calls;

His solitary voice sounds harsh and mean.

Lighting flashes above the crashing seas,

As thunder rumbles, rolling to the shore.

In wake, a chill and eerie sort of peace

Falls tremulous, where terror shook before.

Laughter lights the sunset of this terrain:

Two love-soaked dreamers, running the rain. 

Little Frank

I was the last one off the bus,

Stumbling over my long skirt,

Bogged down by bags and backpacks,

Gracelessly dropped onto African dirt.

Twenty-three hours, too little sleep,

With greasy hair and heavy eyes,

He was the only one left waiting,

For the last muzungu surprise.

He flashed a smile, white as the sun,

And grabbed me by the hand.

He dragged me weary, bags and all,

Across the red Ugandan sand. 

He walked me through the orphanage,

His little bare feet doubled my stride.

Pointing and smiling, he welcomed me home,

He never left my side.

Acacia tress and crimson sunsets,

The dirt and sun and sweat,

Beating drums, lugandan hymns,

These things I won’t forget.

The goal they told us: Go be love.

Such love I’d never known.

Hugging strangers, sharing rice-

These can’t be taught, but shown.

In one short week my world was changed,

But not because of me- 

Because a little orphan boy 

Showed me how to see.

The church calls me a missionary

Who brings lost souls to light;

He called me mukwano, friend,

The difference, black and white.

Puzzle

Days pass by in measured silence;

Anchor down my beating heart-

Tethered by inconstancy

That tears my world apart.

Breathing deep the winter’s cold

Sunsets fade within my mind

Brighter days leave longer shadows

As I leave the coast behind.

The eastern sun is dying dimly.

Tides of August ebb away

So concerned with future heartache,

We forgot about today.

Our puzzle didn’t seem to fit,

Though fingers locked more tight,

We tossed the dream, forgot the box

And sealed our hearts too tight.

So what if we were wrong, my dear?

I can’t live without your smile

What if watching summer wane,

Is killing me the while?

I said I couldn’t share the key

Wouldn’t open up the cage

And let the lark within me fly

My heart upon this page.

But somewhere in the memories

My little guard let go

And somewhere tangled deep within,

There’s something you should know.

The golden moon we shared that night,

The crashing silver shore,

Left my heart bewildered

Knocking at your door.

In summer’s grace you caught me,

In autumn’s grace I fell,

I know that may seem backwards

But the truth is hard to tell.

Time, it passes slowly,

Each day without you here

Makes memories more vivd

And future dreams more clear.

What if under eastern stars

That shell became my heart?

And, broken, now I try to live

With only just a part?

Would you return the favor, dear?

The puzzle that you stole-

See, you’re the piece that fits, I think

And together we’d be whole.

Assateague

I close my eyes and breathe deep, wishing to smell the thick, salty air of Assateague once again. The air here in Texas is thin, dry, and hot, not at all like east coast air. All I smell is dust and dirt, but I keep my eyes closed and try to remember anyway. 

It’s nearing midnight and we are sitting in a lifeguard stand a couple hundred yards down the beach from everyone else. We’ve ended up there after walking along the shore as we attempt some semblance of a conversation- we’re supposed to be defining how the two of us fit together in life. At that point, I don’t think we even knew the answer. 

Walking down the beach we talked about our lives- where we’d been and where we hoped to be going. I think if I hadn’t been talking to him, I might have cried telling my sad story, but somehow with him, the sadness couldn’t take control. There was another emotion in his presence taking a deeper root.

Even now as I daydream, I am overwhelmed by the memories- visiting him at work on the boardwalk, running down the beach barefoot, playing in thunderstorms, reading poetry together well into the morning, driving to church with the stereo blaring. So many simple things that seemed like nothing at the time- so many things I took for granted. 

Not now. A thousand miles away, I miss doing laundry together on Sundays. I miss talking out at the picnic tables late at night. I miss watching him praise Jesus as he leads worship on the drums. I miss the way he gets excited about the smallest things, and then suddenly they aren’t small things to me anymore. I miss grocery shopping together. I miss cooking Sunday lunch together. I miss everything- as long as it is together. 

Together at Assateague is my favorite memory, though. It’s filed in my brain between running in the rain together and the night we both accidentally fell asleep in the girls apartment living room. Not that anything happened- it’s just funny to remember waking up and wondering why no one else found it necessary to wake us up and tell us the night before. We were on separate couches, completely oblivious to each other’s existence. And, in my defense, it was my living room, not his, and I fell asleep first. 

Assateague. 

Even the name sounds special. Like some kind of fairytale. An enchanted island of ponies where  white beaches crash with crystal waves and the sound of praise and worship drifts on the breeze. Bonfires flicker in the distance and the dark sky above us is brilliantly illuminated by a million gleaming stars, untarnished by the bright city lights of Ocean City. 

We’re sitting on the lifeguard stand together. We climbed up to talk as we watched the moon rise on the cloudy eastern horizon. At all the right moments, the moon breaks through the clouds and paints a masterpiece on the seascape, broken only by the thundering waves, an ample soundtrack for our surreal moment. I don’t remember piece by piece the words that were being exchanged.

I remember I’m fiddling with a piece of shell that I’d found earlier. I’m nervous as I rub it back and forth between my fingers, keeping my hands busy. I’m trying to keep my mind off of the one place I really wished my hands could be- in his. Just in case, though, I decide to fidget with only one hand and leave my right one conveniently sitting on the seat next to me, so that it won’t be awkward if he happens to be thinking the same thing. Elementary, I know.

This is the point in which the memories get blurry. I stop remembering details and start remembering emotions. The way my stomach did summersaults every time he said something that made me smile. The way I couldn’t stop blushing after he grabbed me around the waist and plopped me back down next to him after I mockingly threatened to leave. The way the sticky air made his skin glisten in the moonlight and his eyes twinkled like the stars at everything I said. The way, slowly, after awhile, we weren’t so very far apart after all. Six inches turned into nothing rather quickly. 

There were not-so-wonderful moments too. The tone in his voice after I told him I had cut myself before. The sadness he seemed to feel for me as I poured out my life story, the good, the bad and the terrible. But, he understood. He asked questions that most people are scared to ask, hard questions. How long has it been since you last cut yourself? Why did you do it? Do you think you and Courtney will ever be friends again? He asked the questions I wished I could answer, and listened to me stumble through my thoughts, even when I didn’t know what to say. He offered advice, but most importantly he listened. He listened with his whole heart. And he ended up stealing part of mine.

He drove me to the airport on the last day. By then we had convinced ourselves that it was nothing more than a bad case of summer love. We were just friends. Friends with special memories and bright, happy futures in Texas and Pennsylvania. We were happy for each other, sad to leave, but nothing more. Before getting on the plane and waving goodbye, I told him I needed him to hold onto something for me. I held out the piece of shell from the night at Assateague. I figured it was a suitable gift to remember me by- a piece of my story to fit into his.

His face lit up and he laughed the little boy kind of laugh that I had grown so much to love. His face lit up and I could tell that something about “us” wasn’t over. But I was getting on a plane, and he was getting in a car and two very far away schools were waiting for us to bring our summer knowledge back to them. 

And that’s where the story ends. Except that I don’t think it does. I think that day at the airport was somehow connected to the day at Assateague, and I think somehow I accidentally put more than just a little shell piece of me into his hands that day. I think I accidentally gave him a whole lot more.

Close Your Eyes

Inspired by the palpitations, 

Echoes of my soul,

Reverberating verbiage,

This vertex makes me whole. 

Palpable, this sweet collision,

Tangible, it’s flame;

My heart becomes the chorus 

As it beckons you, the same.

Ardently, too ardently, 

Entranced, entwined, entangled-

Break my baneful bonds before, 

Before our song is strangled.

This wistful, mystic symphony

Euphonic in its call

Creates a passion purer bred

Than any, all in all.

With systematic susurrations,

It governs body’s beat

Succinctly synchronized,

Compartmentalize, repeat. 

Imagine yet, the freedom,

Euphoria of mind,

Gasping, grasping, atmosphere

Leaving world behind.

Take my hand, hold fast, my love,

We’ll escape this escapade-

And excavate the earth in motion,

Digging spade by spade.

Delve deep desire’s destiny,

And listen to the sound,

Circumvent the circular,

Let’s dance the globe around.

Two by two, proverbial,

We’ll heed the creed of constancy,

So close your eyes, with open heart,

Take my hands and dance with me.