you cast out for them
they have to be tossed back
to the sea
i went to visit my good friend in san francisco up in merced heights. the wind was several knots and the Pacific foaming at the beach. my friend had fallen back to sleep. something happened to his knee so he walks funny now. he needs surgery cause he tore something and its inflammed. i remember when my whole life was swell. we went to lunch in daly city on a sunday when all the country’s got politics and black lives matter on its mind. robots detonating bombs to take out snipers. honestly i wouldn’t want to be black in this country, when simple traffic stops can turn deadly. racial tensions are growing again like they often do. our country is founded on tensions. you could argue tension is what makes the whole thing tick. i’ve known my friend for a decade and maybe half that time we were incommunicado. at the cafe by the beach and facing the wind, he told me he thinks we have agreed about 87% of the time. i thought about that number while i sipped on my iced americano. no cream. no sugar. just water and finely ground coffee. he’s a banker and he’s always calculating. 87%. i’m not gonna argue. he’s probably somehow right. 88% of the time, he is.
I wanna hold on to that little bit of joy that comes over me like a mist on a foggy morning, I am wet with it, a taste of clarity of wholeness as if all my past is right here with me and I could take you through my eyes to any given moment, yes, come after a really good night’s sleep so rare, or maybe if I run a few miles really hard and fast as I can, I can get that special feeling like all is well, the future has no stake in it, when in the empire the interest rates begin climbing, from the base of Denali after stasis, after a decade of descent… what does it matter for my heart also ascends up Mount St. Elias and into my head for a second, tethered to a wild pack of neurotransmitters in the Cortex ravine by well placed stakes and caribeners, awaiting the next big storm will send me in a rush flying to another death, my adrenaline drizzled over the top of Mount Foraker only to get hit by the sun a couple days later and reborn, over Endocrine valley where the estrogen in me highlights the tips in the alpine meadow, under a cobalt blue, and my spirit summits Mount Blackburn for to see all the way to Canada and to you, our memories collide for past lives, within a life, covering all 16,237 feet of Mount Sanford, yes, and I want to cry then but my joy prevents me, and you gotta believe I wanna hold on to this feeling, I wanna stay here cause I like to believe it was a lot of work to get here to where the vision rewards me, atop Mount Fairweather I can see you and me so clearly and maybe not picturesque but we know where we stand. Sure maybe I don’t know you anymore and can honestly ask you who the hell are you anymore? even if it hurts I just have to ask. Because beyond all the wonder I felt in meeting you in this world in this life, well, we are past that now, aren’t we? I sure as hell wish you were here with me again, to feel it too… the life of love survives beyond the love affair and into a stirring night alone into a dawn on the side of any mountain carry me away.
I was circumstantial.
You told me and you told me again and you told me one more time, and sure I heard you but why would that change anything? I was still gonna hit the streets late at night and up to no good. Your social was not my social, even if we both had ice cream. I cannot even relate, and you think just cause we are related I ought to, like it was good form, I oughta conform to your standard. The whole attitude was circumstantial. And the circumstance was the influence you had over me, waving it like a badge in my face, demanding, demanding!
Clasping of hands behind head.
Pulling elbows in tight against the ears.
And if you were to hit the streets with me, what would that be like? Can I imagine it, or will you come into my thoughts with a big fat roll of duct tape and mark my internal off like a crime scene? I don’t care if you consider all my lifestyle, irrelevant. What am I gonna tell you, anyway, as you lean upon your own misunderstanding? What I care about, is whether you care how I feel when you cast away all I have become and am becoming…
With a letter
with a look
with a social media
Hey you! I can dream for us, can’t I? I can dream we can meet on equal terms on soft ground some day. Over easy at the diner in nobody’s home town. WIth no control over the music in the atmosphere. They might be playing dubstep in 20 years. No more Sinatra. You might need a cane to walk. Ageism tossed in there with the hash browns. But will you stay closed off at the end of a smoke? Not in my dream. In my dream
I will be holding
you tight. Rubbing your
A flash of prose I wrote about yesterday morning with a friend… http://www.katyamills.com/2015/08/friday-morning-recalled.html