New Poem:

First Spring

-For K.

On the island where

everything is voluptuous where

the inside of a coconut

is called "meat." 

Where

svelte palms shake

their tresses

against a milky pink sky-

We rise at dawn & enter

the ocean.

The goosebumps, the sountrack of

breath-

the way the pull of tides

knocks us against one another-

The salt.

& like this on land as well.

So the days & nights run

together-

the color of the fish, their lips

an "o" of surprise-

turning onto their sides to

regard us hovering above-

& the riotous, provocative 

flowers-

The geckos, the cardinals, the lone butterfly

that was always at

my shoulder.

Until the days end, the ocean

gulping down

that warm, ripe sun.

It was almost too much

to contain, almost.

Every sense primed &

bursting.

Leaving the island

I did not want the old rules

to apply.

How fortunate to return to 

Spring. Our first

together. To part

but only

to another green.

And each softer somehow,

humbled by such pleasures.

You are back in your home where

the rush of the freeway

can sound like the sea. 

Where that mountain can appear

volcanic

in certain light.

I am back in my home

& I walk past

the low, scone-shaped rocks, wading

in pools of wild yellow

mustard or orange poppies.

I cannot smell the Plumeria but soon,

lilac.

Back to the rhythms 

that we know yet perhaps

altered now-

a frame of reference

more felt

than spoken.

Pineapple Dreams

Tonight, a chilly night in January, I carefully carved a pineapple into bite-sized triangles and stood over the sink and ate so many of them that I got a sore on my tongue. I was dreaming about Hawaii, my "happy place." Every year for five years I spent my birthday on one of the islands and was extraordinarily content. There is something about getting up before dawn and heading to a portion of reef that is teeming with colorful life and starting one's day by snorkeling for three hours that for me is pretty much the definition of bliss. That, plus Plumeria blossoms just waiting to be sniffed then tucked behind one's ear, drinking fresh young coconuts, listening to the laugh of geckos, well, the list goes on. I can see why Hawaii is also called paradise. Unless I win lotto (or my book becomes a runaway bestseller) I will not be going this February, but as long as there is pineapple, I can dream....