Why I Don't Piss in the Ocean
By Maggie Dietz
Once my sister told me that from her summit at the city
pool she could see the yellow billows spread like gas
or dreams between kids’ legs. In something the size of the sea,
you can’t be sure who’s watching from above. Let’s say
it’s the Almighty, twirling His whistle, ready to blow it
at any moment and let loose the bottomless Apocalypse:
the ocean would make bone of a body, coral of bone.
Piss, and a tiger-fish darts through a skull-hole, a weed
weaves itself through ribs. You, too, have seen
the bulbs flash from the sea. You, too, have felt
it breathing down your neck. You eat fish. You’ve heard
that mermaids sing. My dreams are as beleaguered as the next
Joe’s, my happiness as absurd, but I’m not going to go
piss in the ocean about it. No, not in the ocean.
I expected Monday to be quiet and routine, but Alice had an appointment in Bethesda, so Maddy and I went to lunch with her at Zoe's Kitchen, then stopped at CVS and Starbucks for necessities (lightbulbs, hair stuff, and caffeine). When we got back, I did my best to catch up on everything that didn't get done Thanksgiving weekend and took niece to work.
We caught up on Sunday's TV including the Elementary "it's people!" episode in between Supergirl (awesome women this year though I still miss Cat) and Timeless (awesome women this week, at least). Here are some photos from Great Falls, Virginia yesterday, including Matildaville ruins, vultures on the beach, and canoes going over the falls: