30 and 31/ A Sestina that Deserves Two Days

(Written by Gillian Jaffer for her brother following a road trip the two of them took, along with one of his friends, to Ocean City, Maryland)



                         Sestina  

He threw the ball of witch’s hair

pulled from trees over brackish swamp.

I caught it with my hands and heart.

“You are an Indian,” he says.

I’ll weave it just to prove I’m real

and remember when we came this way.

I know that he will lead the way.

I am gracious, ignoring my hair.

No one to impress is now real

freedom from the civilized swamp

that drags me down.  “It sucks,” he says.

Like a leech upon my heart.

The pony warms and breaks my heart,             

but he points him out anyway.                        

“This life is all he knows,” he says.                             

I pet his face and patchy hair,                                   

coarse like moss in the southern swamp.          

I believe his insight is real.

I cannot believe this is real.

The waves crest and swell with my heart.

The ocean makes our lake a swamp.

I want it to sweep me away,

sucking my bones and twisted hair.

I am speechless.  “Wow,” he says.

“Fireworks and ham,” the sign says.

How otherworldly and unreal.

The owner’s breath smells like the hair

of the dog’s life that pumps her heart.

I wonder:  Did she lose her way

to the keys and ultimate swamp?

The car smells of beach and swamp

and so do I, my brother says.                                    

I wouldn’t have it another way.                        

The things that make our journey real             

and not a dream that breaks my heart;            

perhaps I’ll never wash my hair.

I wash my hair of the endless swamp,

of things that break my heart. "Be secure," he says.

For advice this real, I go out of my way.