By Matthew Dickman
I'm walking my infant
son through a stand of rhododendrons.
It feels like we are walking
through a cloud of jellyfish
made of pink and purple paper
petals falling
to the ground.
These jellyfish are the fish of spring.
He is making sounds
like a mouse, small but all out
of his body. Inside,
his organs are so new
that they are both organs
and the beginnings of organs.
When he cries for his mother
to nurse him
he sounds like a rooster.
He is not
just hungry,
but hunger itself.
He is the thing
he cries for. Sunlight is turning
the rhododendrons
into balls of pink light if light
were liquid
and something else,
splashing,
that’s what the pink is doing,
splashing all over us,
lucky without a god,
animals under the bright pink
idea of earth.
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I had a nice Wednesday around lots of unpacking and laundry. I talked to my three best high school friends, although I had seen Linda and Kay over the weekend and spent most of my time in Maryland with Hildy's daughter Haley -- we had kid gossip to catch up on -- and I watched the last episode of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier with Kristen, plus the Rogers: The Musical number from Hawkeye, which we'll watch next, after I get to see her in person next weekend.
Paul and I walked to the beach in drizzle and saw mallards, Canada geese, coots, an eagle, an osprey, wood ducks landing in trees, which I hadn't even known they could do, and salmon slapping the water, which I hadn't known they did either. We watched The Masked Singer -- wrong choice, judges -- followed by the season finales of Vice's Icons Unearthed shows about Batman and The Lord of the Rings. Rhododendrons and azaleas at McCrillis Gardens:
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