Tuesday, June 22, 2010
First Swim II (Cont.)
A tease like some Appalachian ideograph, it is more pronounced the longer I am away from it. What makes this day the first swim? Warmth of the water, length of the day, time of the year, returning the way a memory returns like a tulip, a forgotten planting, and suddenly discovered by the front door, pert and demanding. I know I come here every time just for that, the smoldering of ember-caught recantations, lake-side reeds blazing in violent flame. And oftentimes, the mental rendezvous become watershed memory themselves. Settings in silver meld into willow drapings and canoes bouncing gently against the banks. Silver glasses, an embroidered cloth-wrapped basket of challah as the centerpiece, a vivid table-cloth announcing Friday's rest and taking of bread and wine, silt finally disturbed by the first warmth of the season, rendering the water viable for mikvah and long weekends of violently verdant greenery. Awareness. Mindfulness. Alabaster careening ardently measuring day-length. I want to jump with innocuous serendipity into this carefully constructed kaleidescope of chlorofil-birthed eroticism at will, but it is a hipocracy that occurs only once every harvest moon or so. A photograph slipped out in an unorganized attic pile of musk-laden once-savored instances. What is their value now? How shall I place or displace these memories? What is the value in drawing them up (or forcing them back down?) I still play this one because like seeking out an end long sought, I have never been so vitally charged. The central kinesis of wavelength vibration in my cells turns over and over like bread dough at noon in mid-summer and radioactively reconstructs my DNA. I am proteinaciously different. I am, literally, not what I was yesterday. Remnants drag along, a bracelet carried, dropped, stepped on, and one day gone without notice, an absence noted with poignant awareness, the way spotting a lady-bug corpse in dead-winter will pour June lady bugs from window screens for weeks afterwards.