I thought I knew what "Mother" meant

I don't remember the day, or the place, or the event.

I think it was a bible study. 

A friend said (and others joined her opinion)

that being a mother was the greatest calling in life. 

I (silently) disagreed. 

Mostly because I did not have the wish for a big family, or for

a small family, for that matter.

I didn't see myself raising children.

No. I saw myself with a job, 

and maybe a dog, and 

lots of vacation time to go off and travel the world. 

"Mother" hadn't been in my future.

Fast forward about 10 years, 

and you see me in midwifery school. 

Oh, the irony. 

At 12, I claim to want nothing from that section of the world,

and at 21, I am steeping in it, day and night, 

Breathing the stuff. 

And then a few more months go by. 

And I realize:  

Motherhood is the greatest calling in life. 

I think the realization came during a birth we were at, probably 

when the mother first caught sight of her baby, picking it up and placing it on her chest

that moment when the pain is forgotten and the only thing that matters 

is that there is a tiny human in the room, and she 

had made it. 

Any other profession - pastors, doctors, volunteer workers, search and rescue, and yes, midwives - 

pales in comparison to the long nights of moaning and sweat,  

labor and birth, and then joy. 

Let me break it down for you, in a generalized fashion:

Most mothers spend the first three months feeling nauseous, flinching for the wastebasket at each new smell. After the first three months, the weight starts to set in. Usually by halfway through the pregnancy they start saying 'Wow. I feel huge." And the midwives express sympathy, thinking, "Lady, wait until you're 41 weeks 5 days. Then we'll talk." After the halfway point, its all growth and please-don't-go-into-labor-just-yet. And that's just from the midwife's point of view. The mothers are the ones who actually have to deal with the symptoms. They can't lay on their backs, they can't lift anything, they swell, they puke, they feel exhausted, they can't eat sushi, coffee (good gosh they give up coffee), plus anything and everything which may make them sick, and then they add in a crap ton of protein, so much water, prenatal vitamins that turn urine bright orange, iron supplements that I've been told taste SO BAD, and goodness knows what else...

And then the labor. If you take an average of like, 5,000 women, labor supposedly lasts 12 hours long. That's like, a long workday, right? No big deal? 

IT'S A FREAKING AVERAGE, PEOPLE. Some moms have one and a half hour labors. (THEY PUSH A BABY OUT OF THIER BODY IN AN HOUR AND A HALF. DO YOU KNOW WHAT GOES INTO THAT. GO AHEAD. LOOK UP HOW LABOR WORKS. AND THEN CRAM IT INTO ONE AND A HALF LUNCH BREAKS AND SEE HOW YOU LIKE IT.) Some moms have 48...64...72 hour labors. And maybe its not like, active labor where you have to focus on pushing....BUT THREE DAYS OF A CONTRACTING UTERUS. Period cramps are bad enough. I cannot imaging three days of early labor. (Men, stab a knife into your belly. That's what a period cramp feels like. Now multiply that by 10. That's labor. Also you have to push an eight pound object out of your butt hole while enduring those sensations. Have fun!) (By the way, sorry for the yelling. #endofrant #kindof)

So that's the first 10 months...

Going on the rest of your life. 

From this point, the tiny human will rely on you for e v e r y t h i n g. 

Food. Clothes. Shelter. Love. Warmth. Probably college tuition. Probably enough emotional counseling for ten people (junior high is rough, you know). Guidance through life. You get to teach them how to use a toilet, put on clothes, coordinate clothes (as much as I love a three-year-old's style, it just doesn't work when you're 25 and doing job interviews as an engineer or a secretary), handle finances, drive a car, deal with people and friends and co-workers. Moms influence what their kids believe, how they act, what foods they like and continue to like. Moms wipe their kids butts, wipe their kids faces, their hands, they wipe grins off their faces when their in trouble and wipe frowns off when there's nothing to be sad about. For goodness sake, moms let kids breastfeed for sometimes what seems like forever, sometimes for as long as they can, and sometimes for less time than anyone wants. 

Moms make people. 

Somehow, I didn't see this. I mean, I'd heard the phrase, and I'd laughed thinking 'wow, that's true'...but then, it hit. 

Being female is one of the greatest things you can be, because it gives you the capability to be a mother.

Being a mother IS the greatest thing you can be. 

Right now, with school, I'm immersed in pregnancy, labor, and birth. I'm immersed in breastfeeding, in motherhood, in family life, in bringing new life into the world safely, and even with that sometimes all you can do is watch. Usually, I watch in awe, because the job of motherhood itself is so unique, but every mother-in-the-making does it differently.

 

I never thought I would say this. But, I'm going to, because now it's true: 

Someday, I want to be a mother. 

Someday, I hope to be as incredible of a mother as my mother was to me. My mother is constant. I know that if I call her, she will answer, I know that if I ask for help, she will give it, and if I ask for guidance she will steady me. 

Next to God, she is the greatest support I have ever had. 

Somehow I never realized this? Somehow I had passed it by, somewhere in my 21 years I had overturned the stone with this fact under it and then covered it back up again without realizing how important it was, thinking I knew it already. 

Somehow, I thought I knew what "Mother" meant, but I actually didn't. 

I probably still don't. I've probably missed a whole section.  I mean, we didn't even touch on high school, with the staying up late worrying because the kids were supposed to be home 37 minutes ago. We didn't talk about dating (oh gosh, no let's not) or marriage (panic mode, panic mode), or the grand babies (help. please. stop.). We didn't talk about the hours spent on bent knee, praying for God's mercy and protection.  

Being a mother - and I probably still don't get it all the way - means creating the next generation. It means making people. And not just their bodies. You make their souls, and their minds, their likes and dislikes. 

Mothers, the people you make? You make them who they are, who they become. This is indeed the greatest job, the greatest calling, anyone could ever have, and we are eternally grateful; we cannot thank you enough. Happy Mother's Day!

And to my mom: 

Mom, you're amazing. I mean it when I say you are the most incredible person I could have ever met, much less have been raised by. Thank you for the time you've put into my sisters and I. Thank you for the sacrifices you've made, for the worrying, the effort, and the time. Gosh, I wish I could reciprocate even a fraction of the debt I owe you for making me who I am. And I shall try. But in all honesty, I do not think I could ever repay you. You are the greatest mother. I love you! Happy Mother's Day! 

if places were people no. 5

i never thought i'd see you as a person,

except now that i found you it makes sense:

you became the place we hated.

you formed as i slept,

so i woke to your enormous cancerous thought processes

and your hopeless breath

that blows as mercilessly as the wind.

i woke to you being a mountain,

and i dangled off one of your cliffs.

you rise steeply

from the endless plain floor.

not sunshine falling from heaven,

but rock wishing to rule above grass,

tough as meat and

those shard-like word ledges threaten from miles away

sharp collarbones and jawline and thin thighs

my intention was to never climb your type,

but i'm the only one close enough to try.

now, when you aren't slicing with your obsidian edges,

you're mixing in dirt, breeding infection, reveling in the primal.

hungry green eyes.

you're wild, snarling,

edging away at every flower,

the ones that do bloom are tiny and dull and only last a week or two,

and then your thin breath suffocates them.

seeds only last so long underneath your snow.

your endless winter,

and the longer i spend in you the more i realize

why no one lives

here anymore

your hands used to hold mine and now they

hold me in the sunshine, mocking, until my skin burns.

your skin is dirty and rough and darkening with every day spent so close to the sun

your eyes used to make my own light up,

and now i shiver away at your glance,

afraid of what it might mean.

every car going in the opposite direction seems to call my name,

and i want to go with, but

from where i sit i can see the gravestone that holds childhood memories

and if you will not guard in then

i will

although i think even the memories have crawled out and left

i don't think you even know where the graveyard is,

though it continually fills with your victims,

and you know it not.

you only know when i'm in the area,

your arrows made of steel and the knowledge of my weaknesses

seek out not my heart, but the

arteries pumping towards it.

you aim for my limbs, not

my organs.

you look for targets to maim,

not to kill.

you would hate to be a killer.

you would hate to be anything horrid,

anything blatantly wrong.

but you don't mind the label of desert.

or rock of a mountain.

you don't mind the fact that people climb you to die, not to live.

or that they only come visit you when you smile,

not when you snow your black snow, dark thoughts.

you don't mind that everyone calls you no-mans-land,

no-woman's-land

the forbidden and hated and avoided land.

you say you don't mind, anyway.

but it must be lonely.

it must be quiet.

and i know how you loved the music in the city squares.

how you loved it when people smiled at you

and i know it because you loved it before you changed,

and you say it's an act but i will be honest

i do not believe those words of yours.

i try to bring it to you, the music,

but it isn't the same without the crowds of dancers

and anyway,

your shale mountainsides cut my feet when i dance for you.

it must be trying,

having everyone hate the way flowers grow rarely

so i try to plant a garden,

but your winter comes to soon

for sprouts to push out of the ground.

it must be

so

terribly

hard

to be a mountain in a country

where everything dies.

and yet here i am,

sitting with you,

because so far i have always been a mountain person

and i am starting to think that i have changed,

and that maybe the ocean is more of my style

except i don't want to leave you.

not like this,

not when you've run out of victims so you're turning into one yourself.

not when i can see the structure of the mountain,

and the covering is starting to fall.

the skin is starting to sag and stretch and

you're getting thinner.

i don't want to leave that grave of childhood

the snows came early this year,

i think you crave the ice water more and more.

there was one day this winter when i couldn't make it to the grave.

when i went the next day,

your forced laugh of a wind had felled a tree

breaking the headstone.

i think i will catch one of those cars now,

because who knows when the snows will melt.

i think i will go to the ocean

to see if less thin air will bring clarity of mind.

i think space

between us will make your

visible ribs seem less knife-like.

maybe space will make me miss you.

maybe i will like the thin air when i come back.

maybe the flowers will grow more, if i'm not watching them.

maybe you will have a bouquet for me when i come back.

maybe you will not be so hated when i come back.

maybe it will be better

when i come back.

if i come back.

you stabbed me from behind, when

i turned to walk away today.

an ice shard through my thigh

so that when i do walk, it will be painful.

i can still walk.

but i don't know

when i will come back.

if

i will come back.

too many scars from your arrowheads will

make it harder to climb your

unscalable peak

if i come back.

YO ALL!!! i'm still alive. (seriously i keep saying that. why. maybe because i have multiple not-so-near-death  experiences so i SHOULD be dead.) (i was busy.) (and there was a lack of coffee.) (don't ask.)

SO YEAH. there's another super-downer for you. in my defense i TRIED to find something uplifting. what can i say. i listen to too much chopin to be an expressively happy person. OH WELL. 

xoxo

December is my thankful month (and this year it wasn't easy)

I do this post every year.

Basically what happens is i spend the entirety of November trying to pinpoint exactly what it means to be thankful, and by the time i actually get around to being thankful, its December. This year, it hasn't been easy. There's stuff happening in my world that leaves me exasperated and exhausted and to be honest, i'm the closest i've ever been to buying a plane ticket for Iceland and never coming back.

BUT - i can't do that. So i'm going to try to be thankful, and i'm thinking maybe if i write it out enough, i will begin to actually feel it. Fake it 'til i make it, essentially. These are things that i'm thankful for, that i don't exactly want to be thankful for, but its what i'm dealing with. I'm trying to be thankful in all situations. So this year -

i'm thankful for figurative brick walls that fly up in my face at the last second of a plan. I'm thankful for the trees (again, figurative) that grow up in my way, and that i grow strong cutting them down, or figuring out ways to get around them.

Im thankful that i've had to learn to be independent, that i'm learning to grow up, because i will not, and cannot, be a child forever, however much i wish it.

I'm thankful for community - the kind that you build up from when you were a baby, when its really your parents community, your parents connections, but you get to build off of them, and it really does feel like everyone knows you. (Which - i'm sorry, my desired superpower is invisibility, so having everyone recognize me is my worst nightmare), but it's really helpful because then you let people know - i'm looking for work, i'm looking for someone to apprentice under, i'm looking for support in prayer, i'm looking, looking, looking and i cannot turn over all the rocks by myself.

I'm thankful for realizing that i'm a loner. I mean, i knew i was an introvert. But spending time with people constantly for three months, i realized that i was weaker there. I needed alone time, i needed alone space, i needed alone in order to be me, in order to be my own person, to recognize where my boundaries were and how i needed to strengthen them.

I'm thankful for staying in MT. I thought I wanted to go to OR (i still do) but money doesn't come by me easily (i swear, its a negative magnetic field between us) so going there became not an option. And i was really sad. But then - i came home. And i discovered that there are 11 midwives in a state of 1 million people. i got completely infuriated for 3 days because that's a stupidly low number, and i decided that i was going to become the 12th midwife in MT if it killed me. There's something about staying where you came from - maybe its that community thing i talked about earlier - that gives you an extra measure of confidence. You know where everything is. You know who the people are. You are familiar with it and with people's viewpoints and opinions. Its home. Why wouldn't i stay here?

Basically - i'm thankful for those things that happened this year that took my breath away like i'd been kicked in the gut. Betrayal of life - that's what it felt like. Swimming upstream, hiking through 5 feet of snow, getting vinegar on a wound, accidentally inhaling a lung-full of chlorine water from the pool - we all know how these feel. Like, why me? What have i done to deserve this pain, even though i know i'll live through it?

This year, I'm thankful for the pain. For the frustrations. For the growth. Because that is how we become better versions of ourselves: through struggle. On my "the plan" page, I have this thing about how pearls and diamonds are made. Essentially, through discomfort, and pressure, and time. And this year has been full of those. So i'm choosing to be thankful for that.

God doesn't do anything without a reason. My mom (seriously i missed her waaaay too much. She's another reason i'm SUPER thankful to be home) keeps saying to me (and freaking me out because 10 years in the future scares me) "i wonder how this will affect you 10 years down the road?" And that's made me think about all of what's happened and how i'm going to let it affect me. Will i let it make me bitter and turn me away from my goal? or will it make me stronger, and more able?

Being thankful wasn't easy this year. The plane ticket would have been easier. (TBH it still is.) But I have little holding me back other than my own hesitations. I have little in front of me other than the problem itself. 

Talk about a perfect set-up for getting this job done.

who's who

Hi guys. This one's kind of...well...ugly. Its one of those things where you feel something deeply, and in this case its a struggle between being good, and light, and helpful, and sweet, or giving into my flesh and being the nasty, selfish, hard, broken person that would be so much easier to be. Both people can feel like shells, like masks, but other days they can feel like the most natural thing in the world, second skins, each one separate...or maybe not. Sometimes they meld and its a mess. How do i choose between the two? How do i make them separate? How do i stay in one character so that my mind doesn't go crazy from the back and forth?

~~ ~~ ~~ ~~

you're so sweet.
what an angel.
thanks for your help.

your mother taught you well.
what a wonderful friend.
what a wonderful person.
you always have a smile on your face.

thanks for listening.
thanks for being you.


why can't you be more like her.
why can't you try harder.
why did you do that?
why are you so mean?

oh, i'm sorry.
you don't seem to be doing well.
you should really see someone for this.


that's so nice of you!
hmm, (with a smile,) thanks so much!
(i only do it so i can sleep at night.)

you're a good freind too (although you don't really know me. you don't know anything about me.)
i'm only this way because of Him.
its been a good day.
(but get me out of here. i need food and sleep and quiet.)

you needed someone to listen...could i do anything else? (like i said...so i can sleep at night.)
i'm the only one who could be me. and i'm not good at being anyone else.


because i'm not perfect.
because i can't. i'm stuck.
i don't know.
i don't know. i wasn't thinking.

don't be. its life.
i'm fine. there's nothing to do.
i'm fine. i'm fine.
i know. i am.
i don't need to. i don't want to.
i'm fine.

somehow, we're both fine. but we're not. 

somehow, we're both acting, and we suck at it. 

somehow, someday. some way.

things will change. 

but i don't see it. 

it's over three or four horizons, around 

five or six bends, over

a mountain range or two.

i'd say that reality is a long ways away.

except that we're in it. 

in it, and drowning. 

two bodies that should really be one 

and i'm thinking that i'll always be cut in half

and no one will see it except me.

because i'm the one that has to leave half of me behind every day.

audience

:my back is turned: i know they stare: my back, head, bum, the way i walk:

the
high-
heeled
shoes         that
aren't             there


no shoes at all. just
the way my toes
point together a little
bit because i'm nervous.
                                                  i know they're waiting
                                                  but i'm not sure                                                            
                                                  they're excited i
                                                  think they're waiting
                                                                                                  to rip me to shreds.
                                                                                                  i know i have to,
                                                                                                  i have prep-ed
                                                                                                  rehearsed over
and over: over until i
know it better than i
know what i ate for
breakfast this morning
                                                   better than i know myself
                                                   my best friend, and my
                                                   bedroom ceiling.
                                                   climb the stage,


                                                                     
                                    i
                                K   l
                             &        i
                           t             m  
                         s                  a
                      e                       n
                   r                             j
               e                                  a
            v                                       r
  it is E                                           o   and the steps to


St. Paul's Cathedral, 259
The Eiffel Tower, 1710
the Norweigan Stairway
to Heaven, 4444. the steps
to the stage. and i am
                                                        terrified. of what they might
                                                        think and what they might say
                                                        and what they will do
                                                        once i am finished.
                                                                                                                 but i climb and wait one
                                                                                                                 eternity-long-moment
                                                                                                                 and think what WILL
                                                                                                                 they say one last time

:i turn: shoe-less: prepared: i: am: terrified: i smile: say my name: think: screw them: one last time:

                                                                                                                                                              and then i succeed. i win.

                                                                                                                                                                     i conquer. the enemy, 

                                                                                                                                                                         opponent, opposite.

                                                                                                                                                                                  is me. not them.

                                                                                                         when i do turn around
                                                                                                                   there's only one
                                                                                                        person in the audience
                                                                                                    that will actually critique.
                                                   and that person
                                        has just left the stage.
                                   
---
#iwrotethisforeveragoanditreallyneededtobeposted
#stillnotdead
#homeworkiskillinmetho
#loveyall
#thinkingofdoingaseriousseries?
#vlogstyle
#whichmeanstherehastobesomesarcasm
#yay

figure it out /// also i'm not dead yet

I'm sitting here trying figure out how it all works.
How i can remember details from my first day here,
like when the iron crackled, it sounded like tires on a dirt road
and then from my fourth week here when we had to drive 20 minutes to find a dirt road
How 'normal' constitutes 97%, but we learn about the non-normal 3% 50% of the time
How i can be so addicted to coffee, and yet i still don't drink it as much as i used to
How twins can share nutrients and still not get equal amounts
How un-matching furniture reminds me of home
How greasy hair and no makeup don't matter anymore because homework dictates all
And 2 am is familiar
And 11 pm is early
And i wear a watch now because i have to be able to take a pulse
And when i eat food that looks like everyone else's they get confused because they think i'm eating what they're eating and half the time i am its just that its my gluten free version, not normal stuff, and that makes them confused they don't get that i'm not gonna change
And how can i be more able to relate to these people even when i
have nothing in common with them
And how the last 4 years of my life were labeled 'waiting'
But 'waiting' is an understatement
That was boot camp
That was training
That was testing and working and patience and art and writing and figuring out pathways and equations that i could lay over situations so i could relate
And how other people didn't get that
And how people don't know that other people think I'm intimidating because i tried really hard on those first few days to be 'out there' and 'open' and 'relatable' because
I knew that if i didn't that would be awk-
ward

But what would have happened if i hadn't figured out step 1
That preparation
Im sitting here trying to figure it out
How to be autonomous
How to be me
And yet how to hollow myself out for more information and more homework and more time
How far can i stretch
And yet how full can i get of God
Because he's here
He's with me
And he is quite possibly the most tangible when I open one of my textbooks and see a photo
Of a condition
That a baby or mother can get
And lets face it
I wonder when the nightmares will hit of those photographs
And i wonder whether this was planned
Or whether this was result of falling
And I wonder if God cries when he sees this

And i think of all the good this will do
All this current preparation
The info being stocked away in my brain,
To pin together as more comes in.
I think of those far-off places with
Bad outcomes of birth and life and death and
How there is such hatred, and such sorrow
And what good it will do

And others say
'That place scares me'
And i'm right there with them
But i see that complication,
And those definitely-not-anatomical figures crossing the surface of the world,
And i see the mountains that make mine seem like pebbles next to a boulder
And the oceans that make the lake seem like a raindrop next to a fountain
And i see God and how he gave us the chance to be pain free

but how that
didn't
happen

I see those places and let me tell you
They scare me too

But i want to help
The pain
Because it doesn't stop at my world
It doesn't stop at the edge of my sight
And my world is a fraction of a fraction of a sliver
Of the whole world

And i know that.

And though i may not be able to take the pain away
I can give them hope of eventually being pain free
And the immediate choice of joy
And when i see that option
It seems gigantically more helpful than
Not doing anything at all

So scared or not
Figured out or not
Friends or not
Or financially supported or not
Or not
Or yes
Then yes.
I've figured that out.

WHOOOOOOO OKEEAY. I'm not dead.
And that is a terrible rough draft. BUT I HAD TO WRITE SOMETHING.
Mostly this is just me spouting bc i have no time and homework is already glaring at me but
NEWS: i got twitter. Although in my defense i am a student midwife so sometimes i use body words that may be considered offensive to some people but they're just part of my profession so basically just be warned. Also in my defense i'm pretty hilarious so #bonus. (First post, my roommates and I created a fictional roommate that we are gonna try to sell to pay for our schooling....is that even legal?) Follow me @roommateforsale (yes that is my twitter name thingy. It was late and i was unimaginative.)

ALSO NEWS:
remember that time that i told you that i didn't have anything past December figured out.
That's still a thing.
And December (or January...whatever) is rapidly approaching. SO PRAYER WOULD BE EPICALLY APPRECIATED. BC I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I'M DOING. SO YEAH.

AND NEWS #3: im gonna do a world dump soon. (Me + moving + school + new place + independence = new experiences that i desperately need to write about and a lot of terribly grainy iphone photos.)
I've been at midwifery school for 4 weeks and i have learned so much....and theres 8 weeks left.....and there is so much cool stuff here but the lack of both mountains and ocean makes it kinda lame. I mean cool, but no.

YA'LL ARE AMAZING. Is anyone even still reading this? I'm so confused........at what point to blogs just automatically get erased from the internet bc their authors are negligent students who don't have time to blog anymore. (#CRY)

Love ya'll....hang in there.
Life may not always be good, but that doesn't mean there isn't beautiful bits along the way.

Xoxo
Sami

P.s. I am terribly sorry for the quality of this post. The grammar is awful and i'm probably going to go back over this in about three weeks and want to kill myself for even considering posting it. 

if places were people no. 4

   

your eyes are blue. 

as blue as the rest of you, 

ranting and raging and throwing your wave arms up in the air with every 

gust of teasing wind. 

you told me once

green was your favorite color.

i doubt it.

it's not just one blue. 

but layers. 

almost black-blue, like sleeping heavens 

and then the cerulean lighter Caribbean pools,

streaked with the almost white of ripped denim and 

the deceptive brownish of sea foam. 

your waves are uneven, 

and they ripple across the surface of the sand like your skin

ripples across you 

the dips and curves making tide pools 

for crabs and sea anemones to take refuge. 

most people don't like you 

"too chilly. can't swim there. 

and there's too much wind and rain."

i like you. that's my kind 

of weather - messy and dirty and sad and yet simple

with only sand and water to get in the way of itself - the way you let the mist 

lounge about, 

sauntering from tree to tree, street to street,

storefront to storefront,

enveloping, muffling the distant song of water's heartbeat,

and it makes my jacket and jeans damp with its heaviness.  

when i walk down to your shore you throw wind at me

thinking i'll walk back  to the house for warmer shoes and some hot chocolate. 

but that's the thing

you don't know me. 

i'm a mountain girl. 

mountain girls climb mountains just to find wind that carries new scent.

i face that wind, 

and i let the water make my feet go numb,

it's iciness is threatening but

i'm not afraid of you. 

beach length waves shove against each other, 

racing to reach my ankles

a bet against time

a wager for the pretty lady. 

i think of what the jovial nature hides - 

harshness and honesty. 

chasms. 

doldrums. 

hurricanes. 

shelter to the water beasts

raging against the coasts. 

the way you never stop - 

you're a constant of wave, water, depth, shallows, 

somehow you cover every aspect and the sheer 

immensity makes me feel small. 

i think of

the way man has wanted to tame you

and yet you have remained just as dangerous as before 

they tied some sticks together and tried

to cross you. 

"we'll win the pretty lady,

pretty lady come home in our tub"

but you pulled them down in maelstrom and reef 

sent an extra breath of wind to make the waves psychotic

carved graves out of the feasting table

that sharks so often watch.

and yet how like man you are, 

those long waves equalling strong shoulders, 

bringing the wind and blocking it at the same time, 

gritty hands pulling at my feet, digging sand around,

kissing locks of my hair, mingling my blonde strands with your sandy ones,

light and bleached from salt and sun

and then kissing my lips with

your salty ones. scratching

my check with the bit of stubble, grit at the top of 

your cheekbone, sharp.

i can't tell if it's a scar that's yet to heal from 

the tiff with that shark last week

or if it's because you never shave when 

you're supposed to. 

you leave gifts on the shoreline:

seaweed, driftwood, pretty stones and shells 

and even the occasional sea star or jelly fish. 

some days you bring me sea foam in your hands, but 

it spills over, all over the bland sand and makes me laugh 

when it flies in your face. 

the perpetual lullaby, 

murmuring sweet things in a language i do not understand,

shhshh shhshh,

others say be careful. 

that you're dangerous. 

that i shouldn't swim too deep. 

you'll pull me away from them. 

i think of our differences. 

me climbing heights and you diving depths. 

both breathing oxygen but yours is in water and mine is in air

and i imagine your sandy hands pulling at my feet again, 

deeper, love, deeper, let me show you something beautiful. 

and how you love to tease the seagulls. 

i think of how you send me sunsets and 

i think of the way i found the mountain looking at the stream instead of at me

and i think of how i'm tired of air, 

and i'm tired of the brown and green of mountains and the mocking 

humhumhum

of the wind in the ponderosas 

you send a salty kiss my way 

and pull me deeper beneath your waves and i can see the 

sand dollar cities and 

a wall of sea stars and 

families of fish 

and a shark says hello

and how the water feels different in my lungs and 

how it feels different in my hair,

and I see the danger 

and I see your anger

but I also see the way you smile 

at me and i think i like your little gifts and the shades

of blue in your eyes. 

i think i like your lullaby 

and your allure

and the way you send me winds filled with new smells 

i like the way your hands are not big enough to hold the sea foam and how

you're wild, but you're mine.