A Run Towards the Ocean

I begin on Solid Oregon Ground

Still

Stable

Strong

Not movable at all; No matter what

Winds screech, pound, push, pull, mess my hair

My feet stay here, always on earth’s glorious green fuzzy beard, which I shave regularly.

The sizable yard offers generous portions of hazelnuts, pears, and blackberries.

I don’t even eat them, fearing poisons sprayed to clear around the train tracks, though trains rarely pass anymore.

I know the route to the best grocery store like singing a favorite song when my daughter’s perfect voice finally joins along.

This blue little home on a suburban circle, sunny inside with a shady redwood deck out back is mine.

I plant a flag.

Solid

Sturdy

Placed down

The wood from a maple tree such as I touch made the table

my adolescent daughter still leans on so heavily, unsteady with palsy.

I have beautiful thoughts of growing further up.

The earthquake scrambles everything.

It makes the ground soft, full of daunting hills and deep cavernous traps not easily visible

I bare my feet the second

I am off the wooden step into the warm opulence which shifts in personal service to me.

Sand cushions, molds, shock-absorbs

warms from the inside

out starting from the blood coursing through me: sand warms

Florida pulls beads of sweat from me like a magician pulls the coin from behind someone’s ear and yes, they are real.

I want to run miles.

That is strange given the exertion sand requires.

Steady now.

The waves pull my support away while I stand

I grasp for a base again.

Home base, I imagine getting all the way home.

Where I win a rest in my spot