When did the word, kayaking, become fantastical, unimaginable, the stuff of romantic epics, certainly not something to do on the same day you are doing something else? When does it arrive, the moment when mild irritations require swift death, when flight no longer seems probable, when you walk out the green door and spend 12 hours not looking into another person’s eyes? She spent the early afternoon in a crooked kayak on the Potomac river, and now it’s time to prepare, brush every tangle from her hair and apply black ink above and below her almond-blue eyes, paint her petal lips, anticipate the tingle in her heart.
Beth Gordon is a writer who has been landlocked in St. Louis, Missouri for 16 years but dreams of oceans, daily. Her work has recently appeared in Into the Void, Quail Bell,Calamus Journal, By&By, Five:2:One, Barzakh, and others. She can be found on Twitter @bethgordonpoet.