My friend just had a baby last night. She has red hair and a powerful nose and is an Aries, just like her mother.
In the summer I will hold her on the beach. The beach where I met my friend when we were thirteen and wearing beaded tank tops on our budding shoulders. All angles and olive and wiley.
The same beach my parents were married on; where I had first kisses, first cigarette, first vodka; where I ran under clanging masts and gulls after the ships in my sweatpants. Right there where we cried in the glittering sun after my dad was gone suddenly. The same beach everything happened.
My dad had a group of friends that have shaped my own tendencies down to the heartquick. One of them sends a package and all of a sudden I am holding pictures and time folds. There’s Uncle Jimmy who drove the ghost cab, Johnny Lohler, Scottish Jack, Flanigan, Peg the Monster, Pete “Toll-man”; all the others. There are layers inside of me, folding.
Tutto passa.
I am learning one can hold all things.
A waitress can hold 3 glasses of beer on one palm
If she is good.
If one is good they can do anything.
I think there is a place between the light and dark.
Dreams and coffee
stretching
There is a place to land
Tutto passa, and good.
Tutti passi
Ugghhh, the beach as a kind of portal—where everything and nothing happens, where loss and life meet again and again. So beautiful, Jill.