These old memories.
They bang at my head.
A washing of blue jean sky,
Salt tenderized by the sea.
Light.
So.
Californian.
Like my soul,
Built on mussel sea shells
Found by the sea shore.
Sally sells them for a penny a piece.
(find a penny pick it up)
In a brown paper bag I left them.
Hiding, the shells–
Underneath the Volkswagen’s seat.
The bounce of light against the
Rear window in the back seat of the Bug.
Little girl.
Brown eyes wide.
Watching the clouds scroll by,
Catching glimpses of ocean blue between the dunes.
Side mirror reflections bring me back to now.
Decades later.
Decades.
(All day long you’ll have good luck)
Four to be exact.
Those days down by the sea
Watching the water foam over the shore,
Tiny sandpipers scurry.
Coppertone baby in white panties,
Already insecure in my body,
Scampering at the edges of the sand burning bright
Heat rolling up my legs from my feet.
I am.
Curly headed.
I am.
Sweet lipped.
I am.
Brown as a nut berry.
(See a penny, let it lie)
Pink soled feet softened by the rasp of sand.
Now I am plagued by these,
Photographs of melancholia–
Nostalgia tinged with seaweed.
The cry of mermaids in the grotto.
Sun high.
Heat on high
Cooking hotdogs on aluminum foil on the hood of the Volk’s.
Sand, a grit in my teeth.
Running back to the water, the ocean nips at my feet.
I find another shell for my paper bag.
(All good luck will pass you by)
Listen for the soundtrack to these memories.
One that drifts on the radio dial of Northern California
70s folk rock.
The outlines of my heart.
The nook in the cafe.
A flash of vinyl, the undertone scratch of needle finding the groove.
The light.
The light.
The light.
The smell of salt.
The hint of driftwood bonfires at the edge of night.
Golden foiled light in the dying
Embers of my childhood.
Bespoke.
Bag of shells.
Halo of white sun as I close my eyes to
Everything.
Lost again in that bright light.
Washed out in the sun.
Freckling my face.
I am.
Softened now
By these.
Kisses of eternity.
Auntiebubba 