Sunday, September 13, 2015

Storm, Buenaventura


I awoke to the unfamiliar sound of rain, in the poet's house. Around noon, the sky cleared, the sea calmed, and into the drink I dove. Small waves, seductive. Ah, Buenaventura, so aptly named. The water was so warm, I haven't bodysurfed since I was a kid. The Channel Islands arose, dreamlike in the mist. Clouds reflected on the shore. Sea and sky are one thing.

On my bucket list: to go to the Channel Islands.

I spent a fabulous weekend at La Casa de Maria with my poet tribe: California Poets in the Schools. So many of us are getting long in tooth and claw. I never imagined this. These are my people, this tribe of poets. But there are new poets joining our tribe, in its 51st year.

Seeing that I'm a Sagge and not a Gemini, there was no way I could attend both the CPITS symposium in Santa Barbara, and also be in San Anselmo at the same time for my 45th high school reunion. I couldn't pull it off, not even with a Gemini rising. I hope that we're all still alive in five years hence. And that we can still remember the past.

I chose time present over the nostalgia of the past. My Piscean moon made me all weepy and left me with an unreasonable longing for the sea. And for the past. Crocodile tears, easily shed.

At the poet's house, coyotes gathered beneath our window and howled, the pups didn't quite have their howling skills down. We joined in with the parents teaching them how to howl properly. I was struck with the revelation that this is what we do with kids in the classroom, we help them to get their howl on. We give them voice.

As I was bodysurfing, I remembered a childhood event, at Venice Beach, when I was counting waves. And a poem I wrote, 13th Wave. Where I nearly drowned. This poem saved my life. I am drowning now in memories of the past, forging words in time present, to be read later during someone else's visit to time past. 

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