, , , ,

I’ve been thinking about Drama tonight, mostly because I got to meet up with our former Drama teacher, the incomparable Elizabeth Malone tonight and remembered her truly amazing dedication, faith, and passion.  I love drama people. I think there is a special kinship between theater people and English people. We are the people of stories. It bonds us tight, and that never shakes.

So, a dramatic poem? Some dramatic things did occur today, including the waves at the beach that my Hp and his fam call “the Wave Beach”. I saw the lifeguards save three people who got pulled into the rocks on the jetty, and apparently, though not apparent to a mountain girl, this is a fairly regular happening. In fact, it happened to my father-in-law not too long ago, which resulted in his wife pulling his license out of his wallet and pointing out his age, and then enacting an embargo on boogie boarding. What was amazing about today, though, was the way D1 took in the waves that pulled her with such strength, and crashed over her head. Fearless. And terrifying. Is there Drama in that? I’m gonna try to poem it:

The Wave Beach

Mountain girls know little of the riptide, except when the snow slips, and then it is the same. When is the wave the same except when the slab crushes down the slide? The sand is the same slip, it melts beneath small feet, and the rocky shores we knew for sure crumble like crummy waves, ones that break too soon and pull too fast sideways, the riptide and the snowslide are one and the same, the same hard forces that gives Earth the power back that we sucked out and mined, gives Earth the wings to pull us small beings down, down, down to the deep. And here is the drama, left rolling up to shore, and crashing down the sound, it shrouds the words we would’ve said, here is the drama left off shore, all the voices sink us and we will drown, sunk to the fantasies and costumes, here are these claws, all ragged and stuff, here we are, all scuttling on the bottom sands,

and that makes sense,

here on the wave beach, where we stand and feel free and confined all at once, by the earth and all that we don’t understand and can”t control, take a hit against a wave and see what happens, doesn’t it smack you down like love and chance, doesn’t it feel like the tide wants to sweep you out and out and out, doesn’t  feel like pure avalanche and chance all twisted up in surf?

Isn’t just like first and only love?


oh geez, another question poem. Oh well. A Thursday poem. happy day, poemfriends.

Oh god