©2006 by Annabelle A. Udo
Chevron Gas Prices o' the Day (19th Avenue)
$2.65
$2.75
$2.85
The evening arrives and all the toys are being put away. The kites are withdrawn from the sky and the couples strolling along the shoreline make their way to the parking lot. The grit between my toes and in my teeth is the remnant of an enjoyable day spent at the ocean. The smell of firewood on my clothes leaves the aroma of a humble bonfire we salvaged on our return to the car. As we turn our backs to the ocean I can feel the brightness of the half moon fill the beach with its glow. The chain of bonfires along the beach tonight remind me why I live here in San Francisco--in California--the lifestyle out-of-towners may covet and I get to live it. A small dose of arrogance that I can relish in amidst the hardships I am facing at this very moment. And, so, I open my window no matter how cold it is and feel a refreshing blast. This crazy city is not New York, is not anywhere else, though my mind often wanders and wishes it were elsewhere. I often think of the labyrinthine streets of London and listen to the metronomic sound of my heels along its cobbled roads. Other times I’m in Ireland listening to poetry in a pub jam-packed full of people sitting at dark wooden tables beneath a dim light. Worlds away I am in a magical desert--where strong tea is being served and we sit on the ground listening to the wise man play his oud as children laugh around us and the women bring stories to share from days of old. I am in my present--traveling without packing and amidst imagined conversation. I am there--not here--with friends from dreams--sitting by a poolhall in St. Mark’s and trying to find my way back home. Hovering above all this makes me feel as if nothing exists—that I am looking out from inside my head alone on this planet. I can’t step outside of myself and even if I did I’d be inside my head again.
