Like a Whirlpool, it Never Ends

a windy poem

Pronta

i’m interested in the Buddhist way

the middle way

not looking away

but then the winds wouldn’t stop winding last night

so loud and fierce and unnerving

i got mad

i got knocked down

i lost my balance

Dad thought it was a heavy rain

it’s not cognitive decline

it does sound like heavy rain

and the wizard of oz

and freeway traffic

and a giant whistling

i’ve never been good with the wind growing up in the san fernando valley with winds so pissed they’d break apart trees slamming down onto cars

i can’t handle the wind, which is ironic since i’m a sailor

well, my husband is the true sailor, but i too, sail

we eloped on a sailboat

we’ve sailed all around Italy, Venice, Rimini, Sicily

and in Croatia and Catalina, and places i’m forgetting but still,

i can’t handle the wind

on land

at sea - i need you

but on land - i do not

i get mad

i get knocked down

i lose my balance

but this writing has taken me someplace i didn’t mean to go

should i change my mind?

i mean

must i love the wind

in order to love the world?

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