"I was the same, but I was waiting for myself on the shore to return." - Murakami
It is a difficult time. So You wait for yourself to come back. You wait on the Pier. Watch pelicans Pirouette in the air; weightless
For a moment and then diving. The sound of their splash reminding You of something you just can’t quite Remember. You sit there eating Fish after fish, wash them
Down with beer. You have started Counting seagulls and giving them Long Spanish names. You choreograph Ballets, make architectural Drawings of dreams and have started
To build a home of sea shells. On The weekends people come just to See you waiting for yourself. “Where Did you go?” they ask, you just shrug Your shoulders. You make new friends.
You take up painting and paint self Portraits, your image repeated Like the latitude and longitude Lines on a map. Early every Morning you lean against the railing.
The seagulls have joined you. You’ve made Them tiny red scarves that they All wear. All of you stare, being Still as glass as if any movement Might blur vision. All of you are
Staring out to sea, straining to See you coming back, straining to
See the prow of the boat cutting The silver morning water.
A poem about finding oneself. Previously published 2 Rivers Review 2015