in memorandum

I slipped from the feathers of my bed into a game of nature’s spades.  Wet leaves and tannic blackberry notes swept across the freshly soaked concrete drive.  I inhaled my first cup of coffee as a sailor takes to sweet-spiced rum.

Under a cacophony of electrical rage, my feet quickly escorted me away from the drumming of thunder towards the steep grade out of Point Robinson Park.

I heard the jester, Raven, call out to me from the west.  I positioned his cackle above a young buck car-struck near mid-rise of the slope.  Celebrating in the fragrance of decomposition, he beckoned me to join him in a hearty memorandum.

For three days the foul scent of the stiffened beast caused me raw discomfort every time I passed by. I fought a strong repulsion and trudged on to meet the spot of slaughter.  Raven perched alone in the bow of a bent alder. Below, lay blood stained hair and grass interwoven but the lifeless deer was gone. Death incarnate had disappeared and I was left staring at the empty space demarcated.  Like a crime scene freshly cleared, I bowed in reverence for all mortal beings brought in and out of body.

Raven was quiet.  As was I.  Thunder ceased and I returned home with wet feet and a steady beat in my chest.

gatekeeper

as the gatekeeper of a lighthouse, i must close the gate at dusk every night.  time had moved blackness forward and i wandered into it with wet cheeks and a mascara blur.  the white metal barrier awaited my governance - when left open it was access to a northwest nirvana, and when closed resulted in a begrudging reroute with a hefty side of historical disappointment.  and here i am left as the one holding the precious padlock to a person's offbeat travels.

i started to sob wholeheartedly again.  clutching the tiny key in hand, i pictured it as the entrance or exit point of every relationship i've had.  be it the lock down or lock out of a lover, every flavor of this moment landed like chicken bone in my throat and i was gagging on its rigidity as i walked to the gate.

then i heard a sound -- youth suddenly penetrating my monologue of middle-aged medivalism.  a boy and a girl laughing.  talking about the mountain and midterms, about how pretty her eyes were.  that they were in the dark alone.  i froze like a cowboy in a spaghetti western.  these kids were here after hours and i couldn't shut the gate until i escorted them out.  so i approached softly inquiring if they were the inhabitants of the black jetta in the parking lot.

they sweetly apologized and i recanted my efforts as porter by nearly gifting them the beach itself.  "what you're doing is precious,' i said.  (and i want it too.)  "don't stop.  go to another beach and keep talking like this."

they drove away and i locked the gate.
i can't wait to open it again.