o my pirate,
where is your ship?
the compass points
to water and
there is gold
calling me from
the sea.
el mar
Jetty Edge
We twist around to
look out the rear window
laughing until tears blind us
and I’m afraid you are
going to back off the edge
in the dark, that we will
tumble over the rocks into the
Pacific but I can’t stop
laughing.
I can see the headlines:
Stoned Americans Back Jeep Over Jetty
Edge, Directly Into Ocean.
I say, “Go slow,” and you sputter that
you’re going all of two miles
per hour but my God being
this close to you makes me
so dizzy I can’t see and my
hair tangles in what must be your
solar wind.
Bright white shapes move
behind us, a group of cows wandering
out onto the jetty to graze,
and you say, “What are those?
People?” and I laugh more because
you’re wasted and they are cows.
My sides hurt and I can’t talk.
But then they really are
other people walking to their cars,
people who got off the boat with us.
I say, “I thought they were cows,” and
then you have to stop the car because
you are laughing too hard and you
tell me I’m crazy which we both
already know.
I don’t say it, but I don’t
care if you drive over the rocks and
we drown together tonight.
Go ahead.
All day we sailed
on the boat with the sun
slathering our skin drinking
rum and everybody kept passing
the joints and singing along to Bob’s guitar.
I never even smoke and I
tried not to, but I would do
anything for you.
Try me, I would.
where the ocean is
warm
on the other side of
my eyes
close and
I am home
deep
in the
blue green
breathing of being
alive in the
sunshine moonlight
first place of
ever love for
my bones
my blood
and the waves
siempre salt
water warm
spilling up and over
out from under
sleeping eyes
in the dark
“Lost in Paradise” by Crime Watch Daily: The Story of Barbara Struncova and Bill Ulmer
Last Monday, November 9, Crime Watch Daily dedicated three segments of their programming to the story of Barbara Struncova and Bill Ulmer. They called the story:
LOST IN PARADISE: INTRIGUE AT A TROPICAL SURF RETREAT.
Click to watch it.
I am very happy with their presentation of the story. All of Barbara’s friends, as far as I know, are pleased with the piece. Some of the minor details—like which roommates lived where when, and who started what websites—are confusing or incorrect, but there are no mistakes in anything that matters. Endless thanks to everyone who put themselves out there and shared their piece of the puzzle!
The story is not over. Five years is a long time, but five years is not forever. The earth and the climate in the tropics quickly devour things, but they also spit them up. Crocodiles do not eat board bags, and neither do worms. Earthquake happen and erosion is constant. We may never know what happened to Barbara. Then again, time may be on her side.
If you wish to participate in the effort to create justice for Barbara Struncova, here is a small list of things you can do:
–Like the facebook page Where Is Barbara Struncova?
–Share the video or posts about her disappearance on your timeline (put the audience setting to “public” on those posts, please!)
–Type #justiceforbarbara into the comment box on facebook posts about Barbara or about Bill
–Use #justiceforbarbara if you are a twitter user (I try but it’s so not my thing)
–Send the link to Crime Watch Daily’s report to news stations and news papers
–Write a letter to the North Carolina governor, Pat McCrory (http://governor.nc.gov/contact)
I don’t know exactly what you or I can expect any of those things to accomplish. But you can do them all from your chair. The other option is to do nothing. We all know exactly what that will accomplish.
Células
Si es verdad
que en el cuerpo
humano,
cada célula se repone
en el trascurso de
siete años,
eres, entonces
un hombre nuevo–
y yo soy una mujer
diferente de
la que conociste
al atardecer
con el viento que soplaba
al mar.
Nuestros cuerpos,
hasta las células
cerebrales
donde viven las memorias
más secretas,
nunca se han conocido
el uno sin
el otro.
loca
no me digas
que soy loca;
no comprendes
mi hablar
yo soy sólo
una chica
chaputeando
en el mar
(de Tell Me About The Telaraña, 2012)
Gasp
(a surfing poem about drowning/not-drowning)
spinning helplessly
down below
i tuck and spin faster
is this how she dies?
dashed on a rock?
her head clobbered by
the rocketing board?
a hit just right would
knock her unconscious
she would forget to
hold her last air
suck in lungs of sea and
go limp
time stops
between heartbeats
awake in this roaring
blind night, i check:
my neck is
not broken
both arms, unharmed curl
overhead
perfect legs pulled in
protect my belly
somehow
how far down
i am not yet drowned
she is a little ball of
curled girl
in a seething sea
spinning lost somewhere
waiting for what happens
she is the planted seed
which contains the
rest of her life
far above me
the board surfaces,
finds light and sky
a solid yank to my leash leg
tells me which way is
up
to a world full of air
i open and
kick through the foam
finding the top
as the gasp
explodes
caimanes dormidos
corremos al mar
con los ríos
no nos detienen
las piedras
las vueltas
las ramas caídas
pasamos encima de
caimanes dormidos
(from Tell Me About TheTelaraña)
ocean girl
i feed him poems and
he never forgets me
i spoon them into
his mouth and
he eats them
in amazement
he goes away and lives
a hundred years
and i am the ocean
girl scooping sunset
poems
forever
Boat Poem
I will drop anchor just off
the edge of the world
I can ride out the tides
I can stomach the sun
I prefer the tickle of fish
to the safety of sand
(from Tell Me About The Telaraña)