Our bed,
Sinking into the floaty foam,
My husband’s arms
Encircle me warmly.
The warm water of the children’s pool,
Just about body temperature.
I scull slowly on my back,
Weightless and one with the water.
The warmth is somewhere between
A normal pool and a Jacuzzi,
Feels very luxurious.
The children discuss one of their favorite subjects:
How female corpses float on their backs,
And male corpses float on their stomachs.
When I completely relax and float on my back,
My body always
Rolls me to my stomach.
What does this mean?
Sometimes I enjoy
Just being in my invisible glass shell,
Reading a book amid the crowds
At an outdoor concert.
Playing sad, melodious
Songs on the accordion.
Sinking into our worn leather couch,
The arm rest my pillow.
Listening to Jake
Play the piano.
So sensitively cadenced,
Such delicate and beautiful sounds.
Driving on a long
Expansive stretch of road,
To the hinterlands of the city
In my Previa, “the egg.”
I always wish Mike were there.
We like these long and wordless trips
And hold them within us
As a shared memory.
No matter that it’s not
The lush East Coast or Dakota,
But the bare, jutting boulders and dried weeds
Of San Diego.
I can even take pleasure in that.
The sun is shining splendidly,
There’s a sense of adventure,
Mystery and newness.
Daria Doering 
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