2/18/20 – balsa

Maybe I’m the one capsized, never too good with an oar. I do not know how to negotiate right and left if both sides aren’t mine. Regardless, I am not alone here in the murk: Many of us, our paddles lost, are desperate and water-logged.

Our rescue becomes a job for shipwrights. “Be coarse as a Balsa tree,” they say. “Grow fast. Grow tall. Do not apologize for your proud insistence.” But above all else, I think it is a wise design to leave space between the grains.

This is how to float when the streets flood.