I sit alone in my car waiting
for my mother to be finished
in the dentist's office,
a few moments of
a very rare solitude,
captured at odd moments,
frequently a solitude in crowds-
grocery shopping is a zen meditation-
particularly standing in check-out lines.
It was last night I realized
how little alone time was mine.
Journeys in the car, daily, a moment to be seized.
And yet yesterday you called
from a rough surf beach, alone,
and wondered why we weren't on the beach more often.
I don't know.
Please come and get me.
But what do you tell
the other man with you,
not on the beach,
but in the store buying shells
for his creative output,
his shell art?
What do you tell
the other man who is me?
Why aren't we on the beach more often?
I don't know-
Why do I so often feel stranded
in cars,
in grocery lines,
the week-ends he is back in town
and the two of you go shopping
for shells,
he in a store,
you on a beach, alone,
calling me wanting to know
why aren't we on the beach more often?
I don't know.
Please come get me.
March 2010
