The 3 Jets
The 3 Jets

After my grandfather passed away, I drove with George to a park by the ocean.
Not sad exactly, just a faint remorse.
I hardly knew him.

I didn't say anything on the way, didn't say anything there
Except, let's go this way
Down the straight path along the rocks that buffer the ocean.
The waves were long, straight waves that crashed on the rocks
and the sunset —

The 3 jets from Pearl Harbor tore up the sky
And we felt the vibrations travel through the distances, from well behind the jets

The shock of space

I walked out into the ocean where the rocks jut out to form a barrier
Smelled the ocean as itself, as if for the first time

I saw the movement of foam on the rocks, harsh and writhing in all directions,
And the ragged woman eating alone past the dropoff, away from the path.

A movement of thought: I never knew the man. Shock of movement

Jun 2021