“It has the energy of a power plant. It tugged at me like a full moon tide. It yanked at my body, it vacuumed my soul, it practically pulled off my head! When I lived in front of it, I was a match for Vedra herself. I was a siren too, a monster, a witch, the sea around me a heathen brew! No compass could be read by my side. I couldn’t report the news, all my lines were rhymes. Birds and lizards and goats roamed my head, Noah’s Ark! The shroud of mist around Vedra was a cape of clouds around me. Electric, radioactive, primordial clouds spewing volcanic rock. “Live rock!” the Ibicencos call it. The Goddess rock! Es Vedra! She shook the cliffs of Cala D’Hort, she quaked plates, the ground slid as I walked. I tasted salt. Iron. Limestone! Hailstone! Brimstone! Debris! Disaster!”
“We pursued our destination one night with our thumbs jabbing at the headlights of a ’62 Chevy.
The driver slowed down and told us to get in. I started to hop in the front seat. Horace opened the back door for me.
“I’ll sit in front,” he said.
“Suit yourself,” the driver grinned, looking at me in his rear view mirror. “Where ya headed?” He released his foot from the brake and carefully moved it over to the accelerator pedal.
“We’re on our way to Arcata,” I said from the back. “Ever hear of it?”
The driver offered me a cigarette and I took one. Horace said he didn’t smoke. The car moved along the dark highway for a minute before the driver spoke again.
In the days of “Killing Me Softly”
black lives mattered
we knew it
and we felt it
and we sang it
the music came out with a coin
and we danced
the songs rang out
we were dancing in the streets
we were marching
and we’re still here
Dancin in the Street
“Forty days and forty nights without shelter. After that a boxcar was heaven.”
The father, Sigmund Scratch, is a character throughout the Maggie Scratch Trilogy.
A Poet? A Potter? A Candlestick Maker?
She’s busy everywhere!
She’ll be there if you need her,
that’s what a friend is for.
Helen, today you are the
I quote from a poem you wrote,
Pulled into the World.
“I can imagine the awe felt
In the hands of all that is warm and beautiful.”
I can imagine it too.
The written word for you is not enough.
You love to get your hands in all kinds of stuff.
You pulled this woman into the world—
you created her on a tray!
Helen of Tray!
The coy mistress…
This must be you!