Of Seaweed and Toothpaste

I said a prayer in the shower.

I covered my face with both of my hands and let the water fall on my hair.

An evening baptismal

In the same place I have ached and cried

Since I was much smaller.

My childhood home.

I dried off.

I lit four candles

One for opportunity

One for finding my voice

One for cleansing

And one for good fortune.

I took some oil

And anointed my wooden Buddha.

He is fat and happy and round

Lifting his arms to the heavens

Eyes squint shut in the purity and joy of release,

Release from the self-doubt, the selfishness, the fear, and the anxious worries of this tiny, cramped world.

I lit a stick of incense

And felt the room become heavy with smoke

Trapping the anger that was not mine

The beastly ghost that had stalked me all day

That was scratching at my skin

And filled the air with the pain

And defeat of a demon who had not won.

I opened a window

And let the winter night air carry it all away

To float down a river

Miles from this quiet city street

Through the trees and on the backs of owls

Down the Mississippi

And to the Gulf

Where the ocean swallows everything whole

And sparkling black waves crash mightily against man-made boats

While they gently cradle the sharks and dolphins

And write calligraphy with the flowing strands of seaweed

the poems of generations

All praying and cleansing

With saltwater tears

That fell down the bowl of the sink

As they brushed their teeth.

Down the drain

And away

Where the sea

That is much bigger and older

than any of us

Can wash us anew.