“It Starts About Two”

it starts about two*

when crystal memory shards

come by to poke me


accidents and I well known

tried to drink the atlantic…


  • (At two-years of age I walked into a freak wave along The Maryland Shore, just outside Chesapeak Bay and the memory came to me as I winced in thoracic pain as I tried gingerly to recline on the couch wearing a hasty-wrapped workman’s lower-back brace device hiked up high under my breast near the separated ribs just below my heart. That’s key to this piece.  It happened at Oh Dark Thirty at the supposed intersection of 15 Street and the Putative Elm Avenue where the final stages of Sanford’s re-pipe of stormwater drains is winding up – hopefully. I stubbed a toe Saturday last and tripped into a low sprawl, camerabag under my torso – with no camera inside, thankfully – and took a while to gather stock.  These are but too bookends to calamity and me. And no Jane upon which to fling blame. My feet “Knew” their way and I was busy counting snarks until I began my award-winning sprawl. Of such I shall try to render more later.  Maundy Thursday is my first return to downtown Sanford’s library/internet and much – not really: a boy in pain has pursuits above and beyond mere writing in a notebook in a chair too uncomfortable anyway.  So, I shall go back a few pages to March 25 and recount the tale.)

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