Out of lands.

Take me by the hand and lead me outdoors. Put me into old metal and slam the door, just missing my feet. Run around it and hop in. Rev the engine and take me away.

It’s windy already, but the high speeds with the windows down spin baby tornadoes across my skin. Loosens the clothing and I’m more exposed. Hair kicking up wild, sparking the flames in the eyes.

“Faster! Faster!”, I cry, “Faster! Get me out of this city!” -I’m desperate, pleading. You stroke the back of my head as if saying, “Darling, it’ll be just fine. We’ll get there at any speed, but mostly of the fast variety.” Thank god, you just push that pedal to the floor.

So we go.

I close my eyes and pretend the wind I feel is caused by the ocean. The bumps in the roads, just the waves.

*
I’m a fisherman on a sad boat. I have a dog, and the old man who knows the weather days in advance because he feels it in his bones. Our journeys are led by the gut and simple intuition. We are fruitful, though we don’t have much. But we don’t need anything, so we’ve established ourselves as gods.

When it nears dinner time, I make us the food, and he pours the wine. We tell our stories of lovers, drunkards, and jails. He’ll spout wisdom like poetry, and it won’t bother me at all. I keep my smile bright in the dim light, because I know this is where I belong.

I’ll wear big boots and wield a knife with expertise. The guts won’t bother me, we’re all the same.

During the quiet afternoons when the fish don’t bite the dog and I will go for a swim in that great big open space. Naked, or otherwise. I’ll trick myself into believing I’m flying across the water. I’ll relish the suspension and suppression. I’ll let it fool me more than once, just for fun.

On the same late nights, none of us will be able to sleep. So we stay together, trying to decipher messages through the darkness. The silence will be our music, and we’ll sway at different times.

Every once in a while we’ll talk of life on the land with fond nostalgia. But all we need is just a bit of reminiscing. We know it isn’t for us. We’re the only reality that is. I’ll be his grandchild, of the child he never had. He’ll be my mother, my father, and everyone else that ever was.

We’ll dream through our memories.

It’s okay though. We know this. It’s the only net you’ll ever need.

And still, when we feel really down, he’ll spout some fisherman magic and we’ll throw the messages to the sea. After the tears are thrown overboard I’ll pull the flask from his pocket. We’ll take long swigs and watch the horizon.

I’ll learn everything from you that I can.
*

We come to a dead end, far outside our state. The old dirt road can’t go any further. I’m not ready to go back yet so I get out of the car. The bare field hides a creek that gets bigger and bigger the further east you go.

You walk, I run.

Get to a place where the water is deep enough. Shed those clothes and throw them to the sky. Jump in for the last swim of the season.

And you, you just laugh. You know better than to say anything. You don’t want to hear my fight. You know I do what I need, what I crave.

We all get there, some way or another.