Mud and Salt
The odor of mud and salt,
and an iodine odor that seawrack breathes
into the sun as it dries above the tideline….
Waiting for the waters to roll back.
I don’t believe in a populated heaven — at least not the pearly one, populated with dead relatives and their floating immortal orderlies who sing a lot. I suppose I ought to believe in the concept in a literal, astronomical sense, since there are more stars than we can count, and some of them…
I could tell she was upset from the way she kept her face aimed resolutely forward as we walked through the quiet night to the bus stop. Her lips were pressed together, and she didn’t take my arm in the old-fashioned way she had always loved. We walked separately but…