the edge

What washes ashore come from
places away – does it know where it
lands?
Ships on the horizon.
Two.
What do they do?

So far from the “heartland.” What, then, is
this? Just the “edge?”
& why so less,
especially given its beauty?

People come here to walk;
some, too, to talk; others to sit and
watch from the edge.
Just
wondering.

Some take off their shoes.
Some wade in all
dressed.
All come to the edge
and
look out.

21 pelicans

21 pelicans low, in a V;
Twenty-one pelicans, quite something to see.
21 pelicans, they soar, wing to wing.
Twenty-one pelicans … wait! Here come 14 more.

a moment

For 98 minutes, Friday night, Progreso, Texas, was the center of the universe. Home of the “Fighting Red Ants,” hard by the wall growing close to the south, smack dab in the middle of nowhere. Two teams, moms, dads, friends and Frito pie – what else could matter? What else did? Next week: homecoming. More to come after that. But now, here, in the sultry, tropical night, only this mattered. It wasn’t football. It could’ve been soccer or basketball or the orchestra’s concert. It was the moment, itself. And he wished all of his and theirs he could do over, once more, just to feel this, then. But that time was gone, so he just enjoyed that which was in its place. Best late, than never.

the wall

The wall stands
unfinished,
like an unsure
idea & it seems somehow
odd that it is
close enough to touch. I’m not sure
of what it’s
made – iron, steel, fear, hate
or
common sense. What is
apparent is whom it
touches – everyone, in
some way & not just because it
cuts through
wilderness as well as
backyards, but because
it
cuts
through
who we are
or
whom we profess
to be.

boa-ca cheeka

Driving east on Texas 4
on the road
that turns to
sand & the sound of
tires to the whistle of
wind and the stage whisper
of waves,
with voices singing of
a
promised land,
it all does
feel possible. And as waders
wade in with poles in hand
what is possible
seems an unlikely target or at least one
less known or honored. Is it
enough – peace, serenity and happiness? Do
they know something I don’t –
or
won’t,
or …
can’t?

lockdown

They had practiced the “lockdown” procedure numerous times, always in earnest, or at least as earnest as a drill just before lunch could be. The students didn’t understand its seriousness. And how could they – why would they? They were kids. But as the drill commenced, this day, she wondered how she would react to a real situation. The thought made her anxious, worried, so she rushed it from her head and did what she was supposed to do – usher the students away from the window, toward the back of the room; place the green card, signaling “all’s ok” in the bottom right-hand corner of the window nearest the door. Back herself, too, away from the window. And as she waited for the “all clear,” she did think about those teachers who’d been in those situations and what went through their minds. “Can I go to the restroom?” a voice behind her said, bringing her back to the present. Two years later, at a different school, in a different state, she would, in fact, be at the wrong place at the wrong time and she would become a heralded martyr for the way protected her students from two teenage gunmen. Now, she simply waited for the word to break down, then presented Mariejose with the requisite hall pass. Five minutes later, the bell rang for lunch. She'd brought an egg salad sandwich.

esther's journal

SATURDAY, September 30: Finally, a day off. We don’t get many of them, around here, at least at the start of the year. I slept in and it was yummy. We got nicked by a cold snap, last night – got down to about 39. I trundled myself under a pair of quilts. God, it was lovely. And waking up to the crispness – simply invigorating. If I’ll be missing anything in the next life, if there is one, I’ll miss mornings like this. I brewed some strong coffee, put on a thick sweatshirt and sat on my deck, out back, up, watching the steam rise from the water like it was in a movie. I sat there for a good hour, just feeling the morning. If you’ve never done that, I suggest it: feel a crisp, brittle morning. I guarantee you’ll remember it. That’s all for now, and I don’t think I’ll write any more, today. Today, I’m just going to live it, today.