This was a fishing village
when people were speaking
the king's English, dead
like the fishing industry
Now the tourists have accents

Truth be told
this was a fishing village
long before that
But we don't speak about
what those folks spoke
Something Algonquian
or another dead language

When the tide is out
I walk the shore and look for remnants
Pottery and stone tools, and such
I find a lot of plastic
and bottles, plenty of those
We've been a drinking people
for a long **** time

Once, I found a child's shoe,
sodden and filled with sand
It had a blue lace,
still tied, and a smiley face
as the tide was going out
Kind of sad, really.

r  ~ 8/28/14

I'll break you and then I'll love you whole again

i can't pinprick the moment when something in me snapped and instead of being fully confident and carefree i decided i needed more.
more reassurance
more security
more.

these days i find my hands reaching out to grasp things i can't carry, and even though i hear the same three words over and over and repeat them back like an old favorite song, i still shiver out of nowhere.
perhaps it's a combination of the passing time being spent on things i can't control, be it work and routine conversation with throngs of people i'd rather not see
all of which underscore the fact that i can't touch you because you always seem too far away.
my childish habits have been chasing after me, these days i find myself skulking all the way home after work because i'd rather not entertain, i'd  rather hide under the warmth of the covers and immerse myself in fresh or tattered pages. live a different story other than my own for a bit.
tired of the fear but unable to change it.
complacent with the quietude and stillness.
missing the past and you in this silly way.

I am homesick
For a place
I have not yet found.