Chicopit Bay


My words are a little sticky this morning, syrupy with resin from Friday night’s sport.

There’s a lot built up in my fingertips, a lot of semi coherent thought and globules of miscellaneous emotion to sort through. I feel like a mermaid and a watchdog and a little girl, all at once. I feel like femininity incarnate, but also masculine and commanding.

A late summer wind is picking up, not to the level of “problem” yet but just strong enough to kick sand on my sheet, just strong enough to create a rush of miniature roar in my ears as the wind dips and glides around my earphones.

Sometimes there is simply too much to process all at once.

For instance, the water and its constant shift of color 
and the tree that grew tired and slumped over where it stands, 
leaning an arm down into the cool stream below.

The tiny soldiers in trisections of exoskeleton, 
mean-mugging me with menacing mandibles
as they brazenly march onto my blanket.

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