Pushcart Prize winner Laura Rodley has lived in Massachusetts since she was 17 years old. She writes because she was born to. For her, writing is a way of touching the divine, which she constantly seeks in the way light shines through new beech leaves in the spring, and colors the tri-corner hats of crimson trilliums and lingers in the smiles and presence of those she loves. Her latest books are Turn Left at Normal by Big Table Press and Counter Point by Prolific Press.
Reentry Grab your battered straw hat your clunky sandals, suntan lotion, thermos of tea, favorite matted beach towel, your blanket with two small holes. Bring your apples, your book, your day off, bring a friend or just yourself. Drive quickly as possible due east stop only for gas, until you get to the edge of this world. Turn off the car in the hot sun, run to the ocean’s edge, dip your hands in its icy embrace, tear off your shoes and socks dive in fully clothed, no time to put on your bathing suit swim into the ocean’s heart, the rhythm of its beating against the shoreline. Nestle your face in her waters taste the salt of tears she’s crying, so glad you’re here. Glimpse the pebbles round and glossy underneath her waves, inhale salt air and hot asphalt wafting in from the road, her particular perfume. Leave her ample chest, lay on the shore drying your clothes, walk to the car, change demurely hidden in the back seat, traipse back through her hot dry sand join her in her ceaseless supplication to the sun, her adoration of the seagulls her endless reaching between both worlds, the shoreline and her sea, her tireless arms repairing the seams over and over, her tireless search for you.
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