Monday, October 12, 2009

Before my jaw popped out, of course.

People say I exaggerate
That I make my stories more fanciful
For flair, for impact, to invoke magic, create metaphor...

And maybe I do.
But not this time.

Saturday night found us on a North Carolina island
And when we danced in the sand
(A giggly, fast-footed jig)
The sand underneath us lit up like the night sky
And the faster we danced, the more it glowed.
Bio-luminescent Zooplankton, he claims.
But I think it might just be proximity to each other, honestly.

The moon was a pirate's moon, golden and wrapped in grey clouds
And the wind was cold enough for matching Zissou hats
And Seu Jorge
But not cold enough to leave before running down the beach like little kids
Trying to find Dolphins and Blue Crabs and Sea Monsters and Tigers.

The non-metaphorical, non-poetic reality is this:
we were honestly running around the beach
In our steve zissou hats
Dancing on star sand and catching ghost crabs.

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