Saturday, January 25, 2014

Pacific Surfliner : a poem

Taking the Pacific Surfliner train north 
from San Clemente,
the sun setting, 5:21pm.
The train runs right along 
the edge of the beach
and it is January 
and it is perfect.

My head still messy
with yesterday's protest,
and overwhelmed with all the burdens
of being an adult human being.

I spent a day at the beach 
with my family:
mom, dad, Seth, Christine, Jonas, Addy.
The oceans may be radioactive,
but the oceans still bring healing,
like, emotionally.

Yesterday, riot police in Fullerton,
protests, unrest in the town I live in,
that town I love that sometimes makes
me palm my face in shame,
and sometimes makes me sing.

Emotional bruises, 
and the Pacific ocean.
It's hard to be an adult human being
who thinks too much 
about too many things.

I am here with my family,
the ocean air curing my allergies
from winter drought,
and I understand why humans
who live in landlocked cities 
dream of the ocean.

Standing knee-deep in sea-water,
yelling at the waves.
Bring it on.  

I leave to catch my train,
hugging my family,
my mother who prays for me
more than I know, 
my mother
whose love is the ocean.

I walk to catch my train
and look down at all the footprints,
like that cheesy poem 
which today does not feel so cheesy,

especially the part about the man 
who was world-weary 
and suffering,
who could not walk 
and felt totally alone,
and someone carried him.


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