poem

(untitled)

I remember it well,

a weekend late noon on the peninsula

between Pacific and the marina—

not more than ten years old

and told to go find something to do,

after inquiring sleepwalking adults.

On the bottom step I sat next to the hibiscus

in full bloom, red iridescent from sunlight low,

primary yellow pollen fierce as can be;

watching it jounce in the bluster

of afternoon ocean breeze,

where I wanted to be in control—

and then another moment years hence,

as a twenty-something surfer

at a beach party the same time of day—

stark light, waving flowers, wanting to be in control.

But today, even further years hence

those moments

made themselves known and became me:

walking a shore at the same time

and in the same light, but searching the low tide

for nicely rounded beach glass:

alone, but in control.