Crossings V

CROSSINGS  V

Lupine are purple wanderers all the way from my cottage to the dunes giving way to grasses and sand, shades of green and yellow spilling down to the lip of the sea, frothing in spring’s first heat, coming in, pulling back, coming in again.  I do not have to memorize the words that describe exactly what I feel because I will not speak to you today or tomorrow.  I will not speak to you for as long as I can bear not to speak to you.  Because when I do finally give in and seek you, as surely as the sea will come back for more, your words will be selected and sharp as broken glass.  Spring is not for you and lupine carry memories you would sooner forget.  I walk barefoot along the wet sand, picking up pieces of broken glass washed ashore, murmuring to myself, “This is the first word he will say.  This is the one that breaks your heart and this is the one that makes you bleed.”  When I am finished, I clench them tightly in my fist and return to my cottage.  If anyone is going to make me bleed, I will do it myself.