How could that have been me? A younger girl, a sky full of stars,
head thrown back and searching. The night the sky exploded
with meteors. With starts and finishes.
The night my feet understood what it meant to be fully planted on a star.
I hardly remember the girl. But these feet, are they not the same?
How do I remember the way the water felt on my fingers as I skimmed the lake
so many years ago
a girl in a boat with her father, absently aware of this?
These things we take for granted.
and that smell, the sweetness of eucalyptus,
the way it entered me like wind, the towering trees of California,
my strong legs carrying me to the tops of trails.
Snapshot of when it all felt good, and the smell
it smells good. Still.
and finally, ultimately, the ocean.
Salty skin, toes in the sand,
the grays extending as far as the eye can see.
I know she holds secrets things. good things. scary things.
How can I stand at the edge of something and know this thing that I know?
This thing that I can not say.
This thing that has no words.
This thing that washes over me like waves, reminding me of where it all began.
