Rain At The Beach

Getting flooded these days       
with the broadening horizon       
of hopes and homes lost.       
        
Rt 1 South,       
passing through it all       
on my way.         
        
The Delaware sun keeps rising and setting       
weighing down so heavy on me in the mornings,         
awakening me so tired from grounding in piled high evenings of disorientation.       
The trauma, the crisis       
even the relief       
is over.       
I am left now only        
with memories,         
and this immense timeless sort of grief    
that has dominated me    
the entire drive down    
to the small beach town where I work    
on Wednesdays.       
        
8:45 AM, just enough time       
carefully standing with distance enough    
from the rolling waves to not get    
my faux suede cowgirlesque boots wet,         
though they've already been lightly covered         
slightly weathered by damp sand.         
Of course they have and I don't care at all.       
        
As I approach the shore       
a man working on a pipe or something         
I ignored in the parking lot       
watches me, curiously.       
A lady like no other in these parts.       
Here, everywhere I go standing out like a double rainbow, a sudden blessing and ungraspable wonder that is easily seen and admired but just barely remembered         
as it fades away.       
        
Can't place the keys in my pockets       
because the wounds in my body       
are still healing.       
Can do headstands again, hikes and pilates         
but the sharp edges and angles of keys,         
each one of them bearing their own harsh forbearing whisper of transience    
disappointments attached to a meaningless ring    
continue to hurt pressing    
against the soft places of hope recovering in me.       
        
So I just hold 'em loosely         
with the hidden in me perhaps desperately         
strolling quickly towards the gallantry of the sea's edge.       
        
Thinking of Virginia Woolf.       
Rocks in her pockets.       
I understand.       
I too wish I could be consumed by the ocean.       
That old pain is holding my soul again-       
such a simple and complex life it's been,       
I recognize how lost         
and alone I am.       
        
Staring deep into the huge power of water    
I pray to matter.    
To put beauty before shame.    
For self-acceptance to reign         
even amdist    
this intense
quiet.      
      
The lies I was told have made themselves known, creeping         
through every old crack in me as I have grown.       
But now is a new time.    
Wisdom and truth traveling with choice    
have found me somehow still meek and receptive and filled me with voice.    
Now is a new time blessed with the throne of awareness.    
        
Listening to the sounds       
of seagulls and waves crash       
for just one moment    
I travel to a dream       
and wonder...       
will I ever meet a true gentleman,       
will I ever be a mother...       
The heavens wanna cry today,       
in the passionate soul of wind    
I can feel a storm coming.       
        
Comforted by the compassion of Nature and Belief.        
Grateful for my time with the sea.    
I walk back through the sandy beach to my car       
passing the curious man         
carelessly brush just a touch of dust off my boots, get in      
turn the ignition, glossy lipstick applied as I drive    
25 miles per hour    
      
up the slow road to work.