the rix mix

A woman standing still on a large rock,
a twisted bush growing from a crack
at her feet. A twisted bush
growing from a crack in a large rock.

Last night I dreamed I was on a road
next to the ocean. The road passed
a series of small, ornate graveyards,
pieces of paper fluttering from the stones.
The ocean was blue. The ocean was blue.
The time of year was this time.

I am fully awake. Dozens of explosive sticks
18 inches long have washed up on beaches
from Asbury Park to Seaside heights.
"They look like small salamis," said Officer Hubbard.
"You can't stumble over one without seeing it."

I read a letter from a woman standing still
on a large rock in the middle of the sea,
a twisted bush growing from a crack
at her feet. I file the letter.
The woman has moved on. A twisted bush
grows from a crack in a large rock
The ocean is blue. The ocean is blue.

(1987)

Labels: poem