All Work

Over forty years ago you broke my thumb somewhere between my bed and the porcelain tub, nicked and scarred and filled with ice water, on a cold March day wind howling as you dragged me writhing and flailing and dumped me in holding me down with your dark fury.

Hauling the board down the craggy cliff he stops benches at the half-way look-out, and waits for her descent – steep steps of roots and stones and raw wood, slippery from misty rain, a challenge to her untried “goat” legs. Brief dialogue sitting legs sprawled breathe heavy, pause, dig deep, dredge for words of mutual comprehension – comprendo? si…si See sea? Look out from the widow’s peak cliffs double beached with la cueva between now