Surfacing
Nov 5 2008


They say you can’t write about a place
without some distance
until you leave it;
and you can’t write about home
until you go far away.
Because to a fish who swims in the ocean
water is all it knows.

But first, you must learn how to breathe.
You must be willing to feel
the cold astringent wind.
And you must keep looking back
at the grey impervious surface,
imagining underneath.

And then, in this foreign land,
the past overtakes you
claims your allegiance
leaves you caught in-between
— an amphibious creature
with exquisitely sensitive skin,
soft and permeable.

But I like the sensation
of hot dry sand.
I like the height of land
that makes me feel invincible.
And I like looking back,
a benevolent despot
who coolly dispenses forgiveness,
and graciously understands,
and retrieves what he wants of the past.

And then those sleek pelagic creatures,
the menacing fish
I wish
to forget.