I had been following her for days. I once thought that a lady like her could never cheat - but I wasn’t that foolhardy anymore. And I needed the money. She came every day - after her morning in town - to stand by the bank under the Golden Gate Bridge. “To let her nails dry” my partner, Joe, said. “No bourgioux woman would just sit and think.” This afternoon the water was unusually rocky. I settled behind a few rocks and was finishing my crossword when I heard it. I looked up and she was gone. I was about 600 meters away, but In a flash I was running, my hat flying, stripping my suit jacket. How long had she been under? One, two minutes? I jumped in and grabbed her wrist, then hefted her under the arms. Her body was light and terrifyingly limp. I laid her down on the cement walkway. 1-2-3 - blow. 4 times, 5 times. Her eyes flew open and water poured out.
After a long while she looked at me. Her eyes were blue San Francisco water, “I thought you’d been watching.” “What?” I asked, realizing my blown cover. “This was one way to confirm my suspicions.” “And if I wouldn’t have come?” I asked, perplexed. She paused, and looked down again. “I would either jump and meet you, or I would finally get to what I’ve been putting off.”
I took her hand, “Let me take you home,” and led her away.
Showing posts with label Life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Life. Show all posts
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
What Makes Happiness?
The exercise for this week's writer's workshop was "What makes you happy?" It's worth looking into. I started off making a list, just the first things that came to mind. I was intending to format it into some poem or something. But it just wanted to stay a list. So here it is.
NOT being around frat humor
SNL when it first started
my mom's cooking
pinterest
rachel and lucas regier
alfred hitchcock movies
cowboy bebop, and other such marvelous anime
quiet neighborhoods
cuddly and happy animals
live professional classical music
live professional theater
conversations in the kitchen
family
modern female jazz singers
a good view from a window
a meal with lots of variety
nice fabrics
a stockpile of rich lotions and fancy chapsticks
being hydrated
getting stuff
nail polish that lasts a week
voluminous hair
a day at a zoo or in a garden
colorado springs, co
christmas
pictures
thai iced tea
All of these things involve memories with my husband.
What makes you happy?
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Call of the Doldrums
Wait upon the seas my dear, at one spot near the equator
'til all that's left of moving wind is longing deep, near the end
Of soul's calamity, where the sun beats down. At first: serenity
'Comes uncomfortable sound of nothing singing on and on,
Nothing rattling nothings' tongue; A dangerous liaison
To us from storms that dwell and stir from the bellies' groan.
"Day after day" the bloody sun laughs at lips that crack with smiles
and bleed with spoken epitaphs, cause water leaves no water for us
And thirsty seas challenge mad men's rafts. But if we give up
Then the fate is ours for betrayal comes from the weight on our shoulders
And so we sit and listen to the song from the belly's deep, restless moan
But lo...if the wind would just pick up, as safety's call from God's mention.
But no... the song of the deep has called and commanded sleep to fall on all:
Red Rum tipped lips share loneliness from one's blood drips
And home-sickness. Chase the dreams of land and love, chase the scenes
Of past love's fall, but nothing stings for at last the small endless bleating
Of desire is gall. My life, my loves, my actions not entering the twinings
Of my century: just dire still, and dreadful call of all things dark from all below.
But lo…and no, the stillness creeps on and tickles still and mindless throngs
Of begging creeds and mentioned crypts bending skill to listlessness.
We're in the wake of walking dead on broken sidewalks from the fallen dread
From planks of ships too high up to see but casting shadows on misery.
Call on the sleep for one last thread of hope to see and wake instead
Call on sweet dreams where no hearts bled their last retort to those well-fed.
'til all that's left of moving wind is longing deep, near the end
Of soul's calamity, where the sun beats down. At first: serenity
'Comes uncomfortable sound of nothing singing on and on,
Nothing rattling nothings' tongue; A dangerous liaison
To us from storms that dwell and stir from the bellies' groan.
"Day after day" the bloody sun laughs at lips that crack with smiles
and bleed with spoken epitaphs, cause water leaves no water for us
And thirsty seas challenge mad men's rafts. But if we give up
Then the fate is ours for betrayal comes from the weight on our shoulders
And so we sit and listen to the song from the belly's deep, restless moan
But lo...if the wind would just pick up, as safety's call from God's mention.
But no... the song of the deep has called and commanded sleep to fall on all:
Red Rum tipped lips share loneliness from one's blood drips
And home-sickness. Chase the dreams of land and love, chase the scenes
Of past love's fall, but nothing stings for at last the small endless bleating
Of desire is gall. My life, my loves, my actions not entering the twinings
Of my century: just dire still, and dreadful call of all things dark from all below.
But lo…and no, the stillness creeps on and tickles still and mindless throngs
Of begging creeds and mentioned crypts bending skill to listlessness.
We're in the wake of walking dead on broken sidewalks from the fallen dread
From planks of ships too high up to see but casting shadows on misery.
Call on the sleep for one last thread of hope to see and wake instead
Call on sweet dreams where no hearts bled their last retort to those well-fed.
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