Dawn Rose Mahoney, 12 years old, March 1982, is alone at the beach house on Long Island.
The beach is big, clouds everywhere, some mist, some ice. Her coats are big, the windows are big, the neighbors are not close, her parents are in Manhattan.
She eats some frozen meals, watches TV, her parents call, some animals outside try to survive.
Her father comes in around 7 p.m. He leaves between first light and sunrise. Dawn often wakes then . . . stands facing east. Weekends her mother holds her.
One day infinite, alone again, except an infinite matter slow waves of Nature, one stray mutt in Babylon, frozen squirrel by a green dumpster at a closed county beach park eleven miles away, the muscle of a pig in the fridge, mussels floating on the low tide, the fake light coming, only just Dawn breathes heavy waiting the purpose and reënact, dozing news anchor, dim winter rooms, water trickles, four thousand, Or, safe, to the dark sky, (full life) in the body - perfect warm soft changes.
She wakes up. Red segments read 6:47. Quietly the front door closes and locks. An owl hoots for the last time.
Dawn sits cross-legged on the pale cold sand, 20 feet from the weathered wood walkway stairs and from the high tide wake receding. The sun sets in 20 minutes. The long trip home waits for the wavering voices of her parents.
. . . .
The waxing gibbous illuminates the blue darkness. Wet winters become warm springs, across the northern oceans, the widest continents of massive land, endless global horizons continually curving. Dawn breathes in for 5 seconds and out for 7.
. . .
Her mind rests and rejuvenates. Her hair stands on end.
The End
PS [ many moons later , 9-11-21 ]
13, the deepest Summer,
at the mahogany table
a deepness like red.
Their riches, their heirs, like molecules transfered in the consuming of the sea food... [ slurf song ]
The monstrous galaxy
The latte in her auburn hairs.
I have never really wanted to hate and interrogate anyone as much as
people who litter on the Beach. [ anywhere]
. . . .
This is Our Earth Please
Fuck off with that shit.
Seagulls, morning birds, the monumental clouds cover the vain sun rising, ready for the storm.
- Saturdays, [11-10-21]
She lies on her back on tidy brown sand, little clumps, comfortable for her. She sleeps like a blanket.
The warming sunlight is coming in, coming in the East.
Trying harder . . .
Hermit crabs scale the deadly cliff of the wake pool beside her, skitter and fall and creep up, delicate technicolor fluorescent skeleton limbs. As deep as her neck plus her head, half-submarine, they all squint in shafts of yellow atmosphere. Elsewhere clocks keep to themselves, here the steady hums and hushes of more water than anything, but also with the Us ... will anyone know or care? - - Then seeing the readiness of Christmass, cold wind telling our skin, she is me now.
Softly rest the hairs, the honey, murmur the names, make safe the little life . . . .
Amen
Bye bye [-:
She tries to write story experiments about the consciousness of the pig muscles in the freezer and fridge. And the thoughts of the tiny things living in the tide pools.
-------
Monday, August 29, 2022
Hope Sand Dolor
This is the sequel prequel to Tide Pools. Hope is Dawn's mother, born January 3rd, 1939, a block from the sea in East New York.
On Hope's 44th bday, she looks through her daughter's desk, 14-year-old Dawn. On the first page of a black and white composition notebook begins a story about Dawn Sunday. She's touched by her daughter's imagination and empathy.
She tries too hard not to cry.
Starfish, Uncommon rarity, Dawn holds her right hand open face up. Hope holds her left hand, as if mother, as if friends. On the beach, perfect weather, warm clouds beckon the girls to be released, as gasses in the sky, in 2 to 5 minutes.
Infinite greys, bluster in the faces, safe alone together owning property generational comfort, affluenza deride debilitated, after a movie theater so many lost childhoods in one.
Action, to relieve humanitarian effort, Hope calls for them... and weak coffee water cooler slowly begins another weekend, hearting rental arrangements
Blowin implication set up to being convenient facts, engineered ecstasy, survives the societal obligation And She Finally breathes ....
Gregory at 6:42 PM ...
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Last updated 02:40, Monday, May 22, 2,023 a.d.
26, 04, 2,024
08:29 CST
Songs: Auburn and Ivory
and
Turtle Island
by Beach House
and Myth
from Bloom
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