DREAMER
I spent my tomboy girlhood on horses rambling through orchards & the molehills we fancied mountains, just south of the glacier’s plow line. My brothers taught me all the arcana of knots & hitches I call to mind now, tied to an oxygen tank, the transparent umbilicus bridled to my nostrils.
The man I married grew up in town & loved the country for its range of practical puzzles. But for my part, I preferred the ocean’s implausible clues: polished stones & glass & wood on a beach asymptotic to the hyperbole of waves, tidepool anemones like stars collapsing, turning inward, conch & clamshell pressing their ears to the sand.
All the men of my family were hardheaded Methodists for whom speech was more vital than prayer. But I always found piety jarring–the minister’s baited candy. Like the scent of a bear in the barn one day as I rode my favorite Clydesdale in, standing barefoot on his back like a circus performer, reins in one hand. When that massive draft horse shied he sent me flying, really flying, ponytailed hair & calico skirts ballooning.
My sister & I were like that: we smoked, we drank a little, we rode along behind on our brothers’ motorcycles. But when it came time to marry, we did. Hank & I settled in calm suburban waters, had three sons– if I’d had a daughter, I wouldn’t have known what to do! And when he retired, we bought a small house on the ocean, ‘way down south– a house built on sand, true, but protected by seawalls from the storm surge
until these last couple years when everything got me at once, & the songs my mother sang to me in the crib suddenly after all this time pop into my head. It’s as if you were to find a bottle, say, on the high tide’s windrow–& the message inside were written in your own hand, in childish shaky letters. I just lie here humming & wondering where I’ve been.
I’m in pain, of course, but it’s not so bad that they have to take me out back & shoot me just yet! The main thing is, my mind’s still clear, neither too fast nor too slow. Makes me think of my favorite Robert Burns song, do you know it? “Flow Gently Sweet Afton.”
Well, we don’t need to sing the whole thing now. There’ll be plenty of time later, when I’m gone.