walking in rhode island
Out of nowhere, I felt like moving and and now I am on a walk. I have earbuds in, but I don’t hear anything. I don’t want to listen to music, or to Michael Silverblatt on NPR, or to the wind navigating the trees or the trains carrying bodies to home or from home or to the birds and the squirrels communicating things that are both more and less important than anything anyone will ever say. At home, my dad packs his pipe with tobacco, listens to the playlist I showed him how to make, and feeds the squirrels. Sometimes, for reasons I can’t explain, I know that that’s more important than anything anyone will ever say. Some distance ahead of me, I see two people talking. They seem friendly, and I remember the first time somebody told me they loved me. When I remember them, my eyes get hot and my vision blurs and when I look down to see a drop of water land on the ground below me an image pops into my mind of two people trying to hug but falling through each other, like ghosts. I think about the Colossus of Rhodes, too, and how it used to stand on this earth and that if circumstances were different, I would be able to stand below that ancient giant and look up into his eyes. I look back up and I see that one person has leaned in towards the other and it seems like they are whispering. I imagine for a moment that he is explaining to her the solutions to all her life’s problems. Then I imagine him saying nothing, leaning in only to be closer to someone else. They are just ahead of me now. I see him again, leaning towards me, and I can see myself in his blue eyes; he opens his mouth and I can feel his warm breath on my face. He tells me “I love you.” When I walk past the two of them, I look at the man. In a funny way, he looks like my mom. He has the same green eyes as my brother. I look into them and smile.
