Ofernyc’s Weblog

Visiting Childhood

Driving you in my car speaking English
under Hebrew signs from right to left
is like trying to make you laugh underwater, or
combing my hair while faking an orgasm.
What I mean is,
imagine a paddleball on a beach, try to follow
the soft black ball—like a metronome,      then
add fifty more.     Keep following one
while ignoring the others.
Now do it in Spanish.

It is July, and the jellyfish arrive by the hundreds,
filling the water with fiery slivers
before the sea ditches them to the beach
to be mutilated by little boys with popsicle sticks—
a worthy revenge.      We both get stung
on our thighs and run out, escaping
the faceless Mediterranean monsters.      Here!
someone yells, there is one floating there.
And the sea parts of people as if a shark fin
sliced through it,      or Moses came with his cane.

Water never tasted so fresh,      you
never seemed so mine      than in those sprinkler outdoor showers,
washing sand from the cracks of our bodies.
Memory of your hand in mine in fresh
as the waves came crashing,     Dive!   Jump!   Turn!   Dive!
You—trusting me with you life,      I—
opening the box to my sweet-salty childhood.