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{the making of the clouds} miquila alejandre The day was so poetic, writing about it would be corny. Plus there would be no sufficient start. But if I did start it would be with an exclamation. We were part of the making of the clouds! Both of us trying hard to breathe in deep, even so knowing we would never get our fill. The clouds were showing off for us. The red-faced hawks were showing off for us. Even the sun. Fall! I said, and he did. Down on the expansive sand that was like running through a sunny dream. Innocent piles of sand, still, I am dirty. Leal stuck the beer behind his calf when the woman pointed her camera at him. We would not be so easily made to stop. Keep your hands to yourself, I tell my students. When all you know is the present. Someone gifted this day. You can tell. The whole thing wrapped up neatly, perfectly. No such cave for staring at the ocean has ever existed nor will exist again. God was trying to be slick about it, but I know better. It was too exact, God, that’s what gave you away. |
