he made it clear
with his cowboy smile
it was
okay to be myself
having
sweet tea in an irish joint
patrick’s roadhouse
green t-rex mounted on the roof
why the hell not
santa monica
pacific coast highway
a bust of rimbaud staring
at our obscene amount of french fries
we found ourselves eating in miss havisham’s sitting room
surrounded by
bric-a-brac of the damned
laughing at local customs
i decided
on my fifth trip to california
(terrestrial green valley
little indian girl that i am)
to give myself to the pacific ocean
for the first time
so
we stopped in santa barbara
i was only going to dip my toes in
kicking off my ballet flats
but i allowed the tide
to pull me out
again and again until i
fully clothed in blouse and skirt
walked into the sea waist high
edna pontellier awakening
with no desire to die
it was that moment
i felt pure bliss streaming
down in salt water tears
it was that moment
i was most alive
aayoung 