There is a sandy crescent with happy ocean waves
greenish ever moving seas
grassy dunes
it was there the summers before I grew up
rolled out their promises
In the spaces between not quite cold beers
between sunburns
diving into the cresting swells
I might imagine a typewriter in New York City
pages of a novel stacked nearby
cigarette balanced on a glass ashtray that said Monte Carlo
first rejection letter framed above the dresser
it would be a studio somewhere
amongst other writers
some struggling not yet famous artist’s work upon the wall
How odd that crescent beaches dotted the years to swiftly pass
no Monte Carlo ashtray
New York City turned out to be that place where words stand in line
elevators eat up your imagination
even the wealthy frown and struggle
Here, in an undefined stretch of time
I thought yesterday of Lillian Hellman who tore leaves of courage from her own pages and handed them to me
today, the goodbyes to a friend whose journey is completing in a moment
love for a friend who survived heart surgery
had he not, the loss would have been deeper than that ocean
Rather than a sandy crescent
here is a sinuous meandering sandy riverbank
no curling waves
nor grassy dunes
rather the towering cottonwoods
wearing their riparian chartreuse spring foliage
No Algonquin round table but something else
torn notebook pages limned with the courage of individual truth
sandy moonlike beaches and turquoise seas
beneath our fingers
our community of the screen
longing for the room
the circle where the alchemy happens
#NaPoWriMo
#chartreusemusings
#bigislandwriters
#southwestwriters
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