I can smell dogwood and hyacinths and apple blossoms and magnolias
and the sun shines on me just like it does on anyone else
it shines on me like it shines on the woman in the beige hijab
getting off the bus with her two children and her husband
it shines on me like it shines on my friend's new blood-red car
which is the same color as my tea kettle
it shines on me like it shines on the young lime-green leaves
poking through the already balding flowers on the tips of the branches
I took some old cookbooks out of a kitchen cabinet
and marked the recipes I want to try with colorful translucent tape
one of them was a thick creamy dip made with white beans and sun-dried tomatoes
I made it while listening to a 70s funk playlist
which makes good background music especially when I'm cooking or driving
it was Passover so I ate the dip with matzah
and then I rinsed the blender and put it in the dishwasher
my friend and I were driving back from the beach in his red tea kettle car
and talking about Humbert Humbert's road trip with Lolita
and how it would be morbidly fun to recreate their itinerary
we imagined a Condé Nast ad on glossy paper
Relive The Classics—See America Through Nabokov's Eyes
it was the first real hot day of the year but the water was still too cold to swim in
and the wind kept throwing handfuls of sand in our eyes
I walked along the water and found five dead horseshoe crabs
washed up on the sand with their shells all hollowed out
I picked one up by the tail thinking to bring it home as a souvenir
but then changed my mind and floated it back onto the water
one of my favorite mugs got a hairline crack in it
maybe it got busted up in the dishwasher somehow
I only realized this when the tea wouldn't stay in it no matter how much I poured
the way the truth will always leak out of you
no matter how tightly you close your eyes and mouth
all language is figurative because nothing has a name but the one we give it
and every container will eventually get a hairline crack
it's just one of those things that happens whether you like it or not
as I walked along the beach I pretended I was the sole survivor of a shipwreck
I had been walking for miles and I was so thirsty
without any idea of even what continent I had washed up on
though it looked northerly judging by the conifers and the grassy dunes
the wind stung my calves with sand so I waded in the freezing water
in the distance were the lights of a port town
if I could just make it there