Some Days its Hard to See the Sun
A graffitied bridge curved
over a usually dry creek bed
where water flowed freely
on this day.
Tires gripped pavement
retracing beloved memories,
driving towards a quaint seaside town
nestled on the Central Californian coast.
This day,
one of many in an unrelenting heat wave,
made me believe Jeff Tweedy when he sang:
“We fell in love in the key of C.”
Just leaving Bakersfield was possibility.
Feel that air… breathe!
Here, bad air-quality days don’t exist.
Smiles graced faces
as happy hands glided in the wind,
we were almost there.
Beachcombers and tourists mobbed
a gray seashore with umbrellas and surfboards;
stood in line for clam chowder bread bowls
at Splash Café.
This day,
Pismo was overcast and cold.
In life,
some days it’s hard to see the sun.
I walked down to the waters edge
wiggled wet sand between my toes,
let the oceans waves wash away the strain
of many past days.
We bought Hot Lix cinnamon suckers
from a famous candy store
that had candied apples behind the counter.
The day before,
a friend had just said to me:
“Chicago is a machine… it doesn’t know candied apples.”
Yet this seaside town dealt in candy-coated dreams.
Fishermen fished from a wooden pier
that jutted from the shore out into the sea.
Surfers rode waves and bobbed in the deep
as beach patrol yelled:
“The tide is coming in!”
This day,
was almost surreal.
I laid on a beach towel listening;
listening to the sound of waves crashing,
children’s laughter, and sea gulls.
Content in the moment.
This day,
was peaceful.
We waited in line for famous old-fashion cinnamon roles
only to be disappointed,
when the lady in front of us bought the last three.
This day,
was almost over.
Sulking,
we headed home.
Pressing down a curved highway
etching this days memories
among the beloved.
*Poem published in the 2006 Cerro Coso Community College Journal of Literature and Art:
Metamorphoses
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