making shadow puppets

this is no-where space between walls. we drive rush of wheel on pavement and northern ontario squishes us with mosaic-rocks and he eats bbq spits and baby plays with rings and my fingers sketch on glass streaks of yesterday.

soon we steam onto ferry and clouds cleave with rush of waves-blue, bubble blast and baby smile... and husband looks at me, as if remembering, says, "we should kiss more often."

and we do, making shadow puppets with our mouths. baby eats wooden spoon and i remember the boardwalk. the way her shoulders slid slim and his braced broad, how her small hand slipped into his, large, how her body seemed to fill in his cracks as friend Bethany would say. man and woman formed before me.



and husband dates me in this space between walls. in this moment on a boat far from kitchen, living room and bedroom... far from flowers which bent sideways in backyard breeze... far from rasperries-staining-purple-fingers.

and we cleave close, husband to wife, on this boat-deck. in this transition space between homes. me not knowing who i am, we leave the ferry, drive far amongst rocks the size of buildings and i touch the window, remember the shadow puppets. and i know.

i am his.





thankful for this moment. this knowing. this being with family in high-way place. homeless, we make a home out of flesh and voice.

(we had internet connection in our motel in espanola, and so i took opportunity, and wrote. will continue to do so as traveling allows.)