MY BEACH DOWN THE BLOCK

Wanting and wading, waiting, balancing as a gymnast on a pier, jutting narrowly, made of stone crusted cement, changing higher waves into smaller weaker waves, water movements controlled, waiting whetting for greater heights, dangling toes, fingertips, ice capped frozen sands of white snowy giggling glaciers, holes cut into Titanic ships passing by, a stream a scene of Sirens, hair drawn up and flowing down like serpents, a summer spent at a tanning salon, a winter spent below ground.

Queen Persephone, not Esther, with her husband Hades below the Earth, rising as a fiery vicious volcano spitting lava each Spring. To become a Phoenix seagull bird in fierce flight, flying in fright, feathery, summer after summer after summer, generation after generation after generation.

But do you know how to cook?? Well, now, would I trade my life as Phoenix to be a personal chef? How high can it take me? Hades did not take her up, he took her down. Down into the depths of Hell, an imprisonment enslaved as "domestic housewife". To spend the rest of my life in a kitchen? No thanks, I pass. 

The insects of locusts on my beach down the block. Fed all of Egypt, one of the Ten Plagues. Do you know how to cook locusts? They are Kosher foods, you know. The Egyptians ate them too! Curled arms on boiled insect bodies, small corpses mixed together with fried rice. How would I know? 

First born, killed? The end of the Plagues. Let My People Go is the password. How would I know? All you need is the Internet. Ask A Rabbi. How would he know?

If you ask questions you are admitting ignorance. But even though, there were four children and they each asked one of four questions. The fifth child? Why did he not want to know? Was he invited? Why not?

Answers to questions, chefs that do not cook, restaurants inside homes. Locusts as pets not pests. Bowlfuls of jelly-like goldfish, swimming around and around, dizzy, watching them swim, not to be fished out as dinner, instead as supper, yes, super supper, Cod for everyone. Omega 3. 

Cod fish at the BBQ down the block at my Beach. Slurping it up and sliding it down slippery in your throat, an esophagus filled with enough food no famine, dreams of pyramids, storehouses of fish for all. 

All at my village neighborhood Beach, all just a few steps down the block.