June 10, 2015

To Love with No Anchor. {Poem}

wind chime, beach life

Sandy toes and humid air

Red, yellow, and orange beaten sun hats worn from love
Dark tan. skin bright. eyes clear. face wide. gaping smile.
No Worries.
Quite salty. wind spiraling. birds soaring. love ….and no anchor
Passion. danger. fun. exhilaration.
I can taste the salt in the air
I can taste the ice cream from the shop where I used to pedal to in the evening
I can see the stucco house covered in beach shells where I once called home
I can see the mint green bike with the big basket full of towels as well as an awaiting pair of sunglasses and leather sandals
I am preparing to go for an endless ride down the long boulevard past the lighthouse
I can see the fireworks late at night as I sneak out of the house
And sit on the roof of the old abandoned construction site
As I sit and contemplate the vast world of which I have not even begun to venture out into
I attempt to imagine what it would be like
To write about the people whom i have not encountered yet
And the places I have not inhaled the air of
No matter how I wish of this
I can not force myself to write about things I don’t know
When I do this
It is like painting a canvas full of peach and marigold
While all I am capable of
Is dipping my paintbrush on the palate covered with sable and porcelain
For I can’t yet force myself to venture, all alone
Into the small cozy coffee shop with the low dipped ceilings
And the live music resonating all through the space and the lustrous wooden floors
Full of rich history of which i was not a part of
For I can’t pretend to understand the music
And convince myself that I even belong there in the first place
But somehow I manage to dream of this
Because although I struggle
I am connected
and every day I am intertwined in my hopes
Like the fishing lures and crab nets
That I used to cast out
In hopes of a new find
Instead, found to be entangled under the pier after a large storm
After the lighting strikes hit us
And we are forced to barricade our windows
And lock up our bikes
And re-shelve the books that we once submerged ourselves in
Because the fear I feel of failing to share what I have not learned Is unimaginable
No matter how I try and gather exotic scents
Or absorb the far-away sun
Or gather my expensive trinkets…
Or convince the sun-kissed skin to stay
I can not last on the roof of that old abandoned construction site forever
I will soon not remember the name of my favorite books
I will not be able to see the waves of love in his golden eyes for any longer
I will lose the ability to wear long skirts and weave a strip of ribbon through my hair
Dancing around. like I am a goddess of the beach
And the ruler of the sea
Because it is impossible to make myself stay who I always have been
I can not control the bohemian mess that I am
Like the ocean I am ever swaying from place to place
Perhaps I am the storm
That makes them lock their doors and windows
And gets their fishing lines and crab nets caught
For I rebel the fluorescent light hanging above
That they rise to every morning
And quickly vanquish from memory so they can at last escape this wretched unnatural place
And travel back…
To the sun and the sky
And the feeling of being free
Because all they have ever dreamed of was talking to the crabs
And swimming in the water
And laying in the sand
And admiring the trinkets hanging around their necks that have meaning to nobody but myself
But still I seem to admire them less than everyone else does…
And like the beach I am composed of a million different stories and a made up past by other authors
Because we are all so different
I refuse to be the factory textile floors
Yet I yearn for the molded sand dunes collected from the stories of past wanderers
I am like the sea and I refuse to let myself feel the sandstorm
Because of my fear that the very next one might take me away
To fling the sand up on my face
Making me choke on the salty water
Cutting my feet on the beautiful sea glass that I once collected and tied to strings
To hang on the porch of my beautiful stucco covered home
So that when a storm might come…
I can sit on the porch swing and read the book that once knew the name of
While my voice hums the song of a melody that I no longer recognize
And on that porch…
I can feel the oncoming storm approaching
As I hear the strong breeze slowly drip
Through the rich amber and gold pieces of the sea glass
That I once pieced together from a single piece of twine and driftwood.
And as I breathe in the salty air…
I await the sea glass to chime the noise I have heard once before.




Relephant Read:

Caresses by the Sea. {Poem}


Author: Sarah Jones

Editor: Renee Jahnke

Image: Pixabay


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