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| the Sea of Cortez | |
| I live in the north My life is on the surface I cannot be buried if I die in the winter I wear protective coverings I still lose heat I guard my warmth I read much of the night I am dry around the edges I dream of the sea but I am afraid I am afraid I belong in the desert where everything is underneath I know how to horde my water I have come to a resort People come here for the fishing I too am on an expedition but I've come here on my own from the north to the south along the edge of the continent to the tip and back around toward the north again I avoid maps and I don't have a sense of place anywhere but this is the only place I've been where the desert meets the ocean and so it is the only place I can imagine I could feel at home if I knew what that would feel like I trace the coastline with my fingertips My desire is another cartography As the sun sets I watch the water turn to mercury The sea is my thermometer I could put my hand in it to measure what I lack At night my feet are in the ocean my head is in the desert I lie on my back on the sand in the moonlight with the waves just reaching my feet A woman is tending me comforting healing me I can't see her but I know her voice I know from her voice she has long silver hair she wears in a braid I know her touch I know her hands which are older than mine A woman is doing what I am unable to do in waking life: a woman is ministering to me I have been here before I came with my husband We came for the sun We came to be tended We lay by the pool on white canvas mats beneath square white canvas umbrellas Men in white pants and white shirts with bandannas served us our lunch I browned my skin I wore a white gauze dress I analyzed and memorized the different blues of pool and sky I pretended I was desired I didn't go into the water We drank wine as we watched the stars from this same veranda He told me about the light missing from the universe He told me about dark matter I do not know the names of these stars but I know why the night sky is dark I am not missing light or matter but moisture The woman with the silver hair brushes the sand from my body She reads my desire in the dust in the wrinkles of the soles of my feet What you want is not what you have she tells me What you want is not what you don't have she says What you want is in the desert After my divorce I came here with my lover Of course I had him bring me where I'd been before I always practice what I know I prepare for what I've done I am well trained I put on his desire with my white gauze dress I swallowed his gaze with my shrimp en brochette I tended and attended I pretended I desired I cannot distinguish between training and desire My lover was fragile although he was much larger than I I never relaxed in his presence because of course there was always something else I could do something more something sweeter something warmer something softer I covered my fierceness the way I'd cover a chair I hid it padded it made it pretty the way I'd sheathe a knife as if I were making sheaths for knives out of felt and rick-rack and sequins It was cloudy and I didn't get enough sun but I was always thirsty I couldn't feel my tongue in my mouth I got up early to walk alone in the desert and watch the sun rise over the Sea of Cortez I wondered what it would be like to walk in the desert at night In the evening the woman with the silver hair undresses me She prepares me She takes wet cloths of purple linen wrings them out lays them on my body on my cheeks on my stomach on my thighs where my regret is stored The smell is sharp It stings my eyes The cloths harden and turn white with salt She rinses them in the sea I walk the beach I see pieces of coral weathered and covered with sand I pick one up It is styrofoam "These are pearls that were his eyes" This is coral that was styrofoam I have mistaken styrofoam for coral I am frightened by my mistake I am frightened I will not be able to make the distinctions I need to make I am frightened I will no longer know the difference between styrofoam and coral between training and desire I lie by the pool A couple come to photograph the view The woman is petite Her hair is streaked blonde Her t-shirt says "The Lazy Girls' Club" Her bikini is fluorescent pink She has a slight frown She looks out at the horizon She is waiting for something It is not the dark-haired man beside her She holds his wallet He holds the camcorder He takes pictures of the horizon He doesn't take pictures of her She puts on a pair of jeans They are expensively labeled deliberately patched and torn I want to ask her: Who told you who taught you to want these clothes to like these clothes? Who taught you to want this? To want what you have? What do you want? I see myself beside her costumed differently in a taupe gabardine skirt and a taupe silk blouse in high heeled but proper pumps of taupe leather wearing a watch of stainless steel and gold tested and sealed against depths I have no time or inclination to explore I am holding my husband's ego instead of his wallet I am holding my lover's cock Who taught you to want what you want? I would ask her Who taught me to want what I want Who taught me to bury what I want I see myself turning away walking into the desert in my high heeled taupe shoes If I walked in the desert at night I would go barefoot I am not afraid of the desert I am not afraid of stones I am not afraid of cactus I am not afraid of snakes I am afraid of how I lost contact with the earth I am afraid of those high heeled taupe pumps I am afraid of my insensibility I am afraid of that colorless clothing protection from my predators I am afraid of my own protection The woman with the silver hair is sweeping sand toward the sea smoothing the edges of the desert tending it She stops her sweeping She leads me to a wall of rock I press my body against the rock I am so dry the rock feels moist I taste the rock The rock breathes Where my mouth is the stone is red Your tongue is the key, she says I don't know why I've come here again I didn't come to drink tequila and dance on tables I don't drink anymore and my sense of balance is impaired No one cares if I lift my skirt I’ve lost the art of conversation I haven't come here to find it I’ve lost my appetite for distraction No one would pay to keep me around I was here as a companion What I want is communion Can I still tell the difference between companionship and communion? between styrofoam and coral? between mercury and water? between training and desire? I want I am afraid to say I want I am afraid to say what I want I am afraid to say what I want I am afraid to say What I want is I am afraid to say what I want is I am afraid to say What I want is not what I have What I want is stripped off dried out buried in the sand like skin in the desert The woman with the silver hair lays me down on the beach She aligns me west to east feet toward the water head toward the desert She digs a channel in the sand so the water flows around me from the sea She is the conduit When she speaks water comes from her mouth Eadem mutata resurgo she says: though changed I shall arise the same The night sky is absorbent filled with dark matter saturated with the memory of when everything was one Gravity is the memory of light The desert is the memory of water The channels are the desert's memory of the water that was there My body has channels the memory of my desire the memory of when I was wet the memory of when I had my skin The woman with the silver hair | |