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It enlists one beautiful thing like the ocean or the mountains or the snow to keep people stuck and stagnant and staring out to sea forever.
Tall and dark, he looked like my father. There, at that moment, I started loving Jude.
Instead I think, I will create Jude inside my head and that way he will be inside of me which is almost as good as fucking or at least pricking our fingers and touching them together.
“I already served my four years so I thought about deserting. I didn’t want to kill other poor people. I didn’t want anything to do with the war anymore. But if you desert, the Army hires brutal guys who hunt you down and turn in AWOL soldiers for money.
These rogue waves usually come in threes. The three sisters is what they are called. Just like the dry land to name the cruel things in the water after women.
I did not get a torso of ice, though sometimes it feels that way, as if something solid that once was there melted now and still aches with the vacancy of him when it rains.
These are the parts of him I find impossible to cut myself loose from. They are beautiful qualities. But beauty is heavy, and though I’m young I am getting tired from carrying around the bits and shreds of my father’s beauty.
I stand naked, looking at Jude, concentrating on becoming one hundred percent water so that I could slip down the drain and out to sea or at least I could slip down Jude’s wrong pipe and fill his lungs, lovingly washing away every breath he takes.
The leak follows me from room to room and drips on my head even when there is no rain. It is eroding me. It used to follow my father, but since he’s gone it follows me. This dripping torture waters down how I see things. This drip fills the tub upstairs.
We park and as I climb from the car all the small, dry, yellow flowers that grow like trash by the side of the sandy road touch my ankles.
We float on our backs, every choice, every word, every possibility is drifting somewhere nearby us.
