Put one foot up on the bar, swing the other over, slide the first over the bar

And lean back, bending until your arms can barely reach.

It feels funny to be inverted, to be upside down to almost meet the spiny sky of green grass.

Your arms already ache a little with that taut feeling of stretching and supporting your weight

And the blood is beginning to rush to your head

But you can and do perform this exercise several times a day.

It’s exciting changing the way you understand the grass and the sky,

the smell of dirt and pollen

How you change the way you feel

pushing your boundaries and trying something novel

And when you can no longer bear the bass thudding of blood pounding in your ears

and your arms become too weak,

do you cry?

Of course not.

Sliding the bar from the crook of your knees to the balls of your feet

You push off hard

Twisting backwards with deft movements and lithe limbs

Landing triumphantly with a thud and a smile splashed across your face.

It takes some practice, but the memory of this is enough.

Undulate and swirl with the heavy tide

The sash that binds our life in ribbon

And leaves us with a gift when the sand settles.

Each former amour once collided with force

Into our rhythm of mundane progress toward the shore

Traveling for a time within our heart and mind

Even weathering the blows that the waves oft impose

And determining which of you was the coast guard or the victim.

But not many can stay with you

Rather, they soften your sharp edges

And polish the places in your soul you forgot

When you were broken, discarded, taken for lost.

Yes, these fine grains of sand are numerous

yet necessary.

They are the finishing touches,

recursive motivation,

and lives that guided yours

to that indeterminable destination.

My love is the one who found me where I was on the beach

Saw me for exactly who I am

And knew I was for him.

But I would not have made it there

(nor would I ever feign to not care)

Without all of those almost loves

Brushing my soul

Adding to the etchings on my face

Rounding out my stubbornness with grace

Until I became another small piece

Of bright sea glass

Finally ready to conquer the shore.

Was sparkling and smiling at the age of three.

Is Santa Claus real?

Does he drive a sleigh?

How would he find our apartment anyway?

Young parents of fragrant pine

Shrug limbs but do not decline:

Santa was real and gave away toys

And now he’s a symbol of giving and joy.

A bright feisty grin was the face in return.

And out came the footed red sleeper

And bright pink cap

Shared toys scattered on every family member’s lap.