I have been thinking a lot about STUFF. Three houses full of stuff.
Thousands of photographs, a few boxes of journals.
Lots of almost unused art supplies
Floppy discs; I think I have all the contents transferred.
Cloud Storage on Dropbox and Flickr.
About 8000 books. Three clothes closets and a cedar chest.
50 years of stuff and some of my mother's stuff, too.
Just last week, a Pismo clamshell that I had been using as a soap dish
cracked in two when I washed it under the hot water faucet.
I've been thinking.
Looking for something else just now in computer files I found this part of a poem
which I never finished. I might work on it now.
I love Pismo Beach and have only been there twice,
once overnight on the way to San Diego County to look
for Diane's new home.
And once when I took my daughter and son-in-law--
and their toddler and the baby--
there on the way back from the audition for
Wheel of Fortune.
He wasn't selected.
Somewhere I have a photo of him wading in the shallow water with his young son,
and the baby on his shoulders..
We didn't know then (he was losing weight) that he already
had the cancer that would kill him in a couple of years.
He ran down Pismo beach
throwing bits of bread into the air for the gulls
the shapes of their wings were like the lightest patches in a quilt
Summoned, he returns to me
on the broad flat beach at low tide
huge white clamshells in the shallow purling surf
light light light
June Hopper Hymas
That's what I found. I don't want to throw it away. Sleep tight.
Perhaps you have already