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Dave Bonta
I have four blankets on my bed:
one is the color of a clear winter sky,
one is the color of the river,
one is the color of the Atlantic ocean
& one is the color of your eyes.
Lying under my four blue blankets
I am warm, too warm, I toss & turn —
not like an airplane in a winter sky,
not like a salmon swimming upstream,
not like a buoy riding out a storm
but like a piece of grit
in a drop of salt water
exiled from the blue of your eyes.
Held remotely
says the message on your screen
when I interrupt our call to take another.
Talking or holding: you can’t do both,
even in a world whose far reaches
no longer exceed our grasp.
On the other side of the ocean, I read Resume.
When we do, you tell me laughing
you almost miss being held.
Five hours apart, yet we share a single present,
speaking, listening, from one infinitesimal
moment to the next: we hold.
From what tacky tourist trap did it come,
that keepsake, that ocean’s arrowhead?
I think my grandparents brought it back
from their one & only Carribean cruise.
It rode around in my pocket for a while,
a talisman luckier than a rabbit’s foot
or a saint’s ear. It was not much bigger
than a mole’s snout, but sharp, so sharp.
I imagined serried ranks, sierras,
& the circling fin, evil twin of the sail.
It was—I recall—a kind of off-brown,
the color of moldy leather or dried blood,
but shiny enough to serve as a mirror
for something not quite my reflection
but sharper than a shadow.
I crouch down to get a book from a low shelf
& the room swims
I steady myself with both hands
at that very moment on the other side of the ocean
you are waking from a five-hour nap
it’s 1:00 a.m.
a cat or a fox has just screamed in your garden
your dog wakes with you
follows you downstairs
we talk
the five hours between us momentarily erased
you ask what the bible means by the phrase
in the fullness of time
your hair’s still in a bun
pierced by a pair of chopsticks
The cold is a mother
as generous as the space
between the stars. I gave her
my discontent & my distance:
all those older & more restless selves
who are still out there, moving away
at the speed of light.
I grinned for Polaroid & single-lens
reflex alike, but inside
I was wincing. Cold.
I learned how to knit
when I was seven: scarves
& sweaters, socks & gloves, maps
& pastures & that long deep lake
I later loved. By then I’d crossed
oceans, no mere mermaid;
There's a truth in a
painted picture of grass,
as it's sways aside to reveal
secrets. In poppies that
grow bittersweet red and black,
that drank the sorrow and tried
to forget. To dancing fields
that grow from years
of crushed, decaying, pitiful lives,
to form those magnifiscent
oceans of cerulean upon gold.
Truths that cascade over storms,
rushes to help those caught in the
betraying winds and cold.
There's a glistening truth in
all sadness
Held above,
The water.
Balanced on,
Seams.
Rippling waves,
Beneath us.
Gentle seas,
And streams.
Fingers intertwined,
Floating on air.
Light reflecting off eyes,
Wind blowing through hair.
Droplets from lashes,
Created this river.
Every sea hides,
Mountains of silver.
In my bubble I like to walk.
I like to run and dance,
All around the bubble.
It's small but I like it here.
My bubble is now water,
So I swim now.
It's much bigger than before.
As I grew, I got more curious.
Is there a Bottom?
What does it looks like?
I want to know.
I want to see.
With my arms I swam to the bottom,
As far as I can go.
I want to know.
As far as I can go,
High tide,
the ocean shifts gears…
withdrawing sand
I hate you,
The words haunting me again
I know i'd go back to you
I hate you,
The scars that's still left
I know i'd go back to you
I hate you,
Pictures of sands i walk through
I know i'd go back to you
I hate you,
Whenever i sing, its like i can hear you
I know i'd go back to you
I hate you,
Im here at the tears of ocean deep
I know i'd go back to you
I hate you,
As I lay drowning in a pool of your lies
I whispered our love story to the lady of the waters
She listened to my every word, dried my broken tears
I became to love her softness and gentle womanhood
I pledged to her my honor and respect above all others
To treat her as my family
A sister, aunt and Mother
There in the courtyard
Spending my time
Here in the glaring sun
Sat at a table
Not really able
To tell when the day is done
Frankly, it's wild
Much like an ocean
The waves on the rise
Constantly in motion
Here I am swimming
Hoping to stay
Trying real hard not to drift away
So here I sit now
Sadly alone
Watching the clouds go by