Down to the Water
I close my eyes and turn left. I feel the sand beneath my bare feet
the splash of imaginary fish beneath the drunk, full moon
the thin screech of seagulls in the wind. I open my eyes and find
I am still in my back yard, a thousand miles from any beach,
an October lawn crunching beneath my feet
thin, yellow blades of grass stiff with frost.
This is not my home. I can almost smell the sweet salt ocean air
promises of warmer weather in the sanctuary of the car.
Winding cliff roads along rocky beaches call me, half a continent away
just past miles of pro-life billboards splashed with pictures of babies
cryptic, threatening Bible verses that may or may not have anything to do with
the particular stretch of highway they loom over
past miles of barbed wire separating me from herds of cows
flocks of displaced ostriches.