A Cold Grey Summer Day
anywhere
The pink crabs were
not in the sand
I dug more and
more
waiting for their little legs
tickling
my knuckles
she wanted to see those crabs
bucket-fulls
like last year
digging in the sand
forming little sand avalanches
in the sandy water
at sea level
digging for
crab bodies,
hundreds
just under the dry surface
she had held five at a time
tickling her
in her
five year old palm
Inside this poem, in the future, you will find out, that we went to the wrong beach, this year.
The crabs were in Far Rockaway,
not Long Beach
we remembered that on the train, going home.
Yesterday we had postponed the beach
"you can't go when your brother has a fever!'
and even "no" on the day before yesterday
"you can't go when your brother is throwing up"
This happened right in front of the babysitting area of my job
I masked his fever with a triple dose of tylenol
so that I could teach Pilates
I hope no other kid got coxacky,
it's a virus
also called foot, hand and mouth disease
His sister's two-days-straight disapointment
rattled her all the way to 66th street
"Let's go ask the doctor, if you don't believe me"
Were the words that came from inside me
"I want to go to Long Beach"
She screamed and ran away
from the taxi's open door
her sick brother and me inside
Straight up the street in her rage, past the Century 21
while I waited
growling
and on and on went the whining
till I was a shaking skeleton
The next day I gathered everything
into the crackling blue Ikea bag :
The sexy water shooter,
which is two cylanders of plastic
that you pump
to squirt the water out of.
A Circus Tent,
in red and yellow; a flag on top.
Two cheese sandwiches
on brioche rolls,
in a dinosour lunchbox.
A red crayola thermos
with a twist-top cup, shaped like the tip of the crayon
Two organic fruit bars
"with psyllium flaxseed and inulin"
A lightening McQueen bucket
Three organic peppers that match the circus tent, in red, yellow and orange
a cash ledger book
rose water perfume
a pen that looks like red lipstick
And my gold string Bikini
---a man in the ocean tried to pick me up
saying "I like your bathing suit, other people around here are provincial"
(It's not like a stripper's because
The gold has black trim and black strings.)
plus, I really like provincial
(Just ask my husband who drives the Staten Island Ferry
with his black haired scowl and soft blue eyes)
Today is a special day
The LIRR is a diesel train
and she says "don't let go of my hand " to her younger brother
"there are scary people in Penn Station,"
she listens sometimes.
That was before she said
I hate everything
this whole day
and the sandwiches have sand in them
and the day is ruined
so I said back:
that little girl doesn't want to play with you
and is leaving because of you
I can't cope with all this
is not a poetic thing to write
all that planning
then nothing to hold on to
just my speachless son, seeing his mommy be mean to his sister
Long Beach
why wouldn't it be provincial ?
its a province of new york
I'm always alone with these two kids
regardless
So I planned today like a reunion
so nice
except I was mean
I told her "Im so sorry I was so mean"
Because in my script
We made smiley faces in the sand
with jelly fish eyes
and sea weed hair
and I traced the heads with my big toe
and ate the peppers in the circus tent
I hope you can 'erase the future' she said later that night
He fell asleep on the train home,
wrapped in a yellow blanket,
with his blue nail polish showing,
my four year old boy.
(don't be so provincial about his blue nail polish)
Leandro,
the Lion Man.
And Aurelia means Golden Crown,
like the senators in the First Roman Republic,
she's the six year old girl.
So I'll take them to far Rockaway
The last stop on the A,
with the crummy old streets
and the disgustingly dirty pizzaria.
"Don't touch anything, not one thing nothing, not anything, do you understand."
I'll plan for an hour and a half trip this time,
and not bring my script
about future memories and being a good mother
Just carry my bucket of empty dreams
in one hand Paolina
