Ruminations About Cheap Housing
Sherry Fraser
I could move to the drying Colorado river where I
once found a casino in every store and tried to buy
a martini at Bikini Bobs while three staff huddled
around a computer to research martinis'- dirty, only
to present a slushy grey mess at the end. My best
friend from high school lives south of Las Vegas.
Would she be enough to shade scorched sidewalks
to step-able temperatures for my dainty feet? Oh, I
can live in South Carolina a’right where a house is
$289,-k-, 3 bedrooms, 3 baths, an acre of my own.
But there I would be an island unto myself. Who said
that? A trope, you say. I say, OK. Onward to where
the people are so damn friendly until election time.
How will I search for my kind surrounded by
confederate flags and Harleys? But goddamn, they'll
smile and wave so sweet. Here, I live in Northern oceans
meant for the hearty to emerge blue and
shivery. I can dive but not immerse. I walk cold
beaches with grit packed tight and sculpt tiny gods
out of a spoonful of sand while spectacularly cold
waves lap my toes purple. For 45 years the sea pulled
me close to her foaminess where passersby furtive
glances were as near freezing as the ocean. It was
hard to make friends here. Today I walk to the beach
where a blustery wind billows my pant legs and slips
sand in my socks. I'm trying to see where the sea
takes me, upriver, solid ground, or to ride the waves
with an unquiet power. I'm not sure what I'm saying
except I think I've decided to stay.
once found a casino in every store and tried to buy
a martini at Bikini Bobs while three staff huddled
around a computer to research martinis'- dirty, only
to present a slushy grey mess at the end. My best
friend from high school lives south of Las Vegas.
Would she be enough to shade scorched sidewalks
to step-able temperatures for my dainty feet? Oh, I
can live in South Carolina a’right where a house is
$289,-k-, 3 bedrooms, 3 baths, an acre of my own.
But there I would be an island unto myself. Who said
that? A trope, you say. I say, OK. Onward to where
the people are so damn friendly until election time.
How will I search for my kind surrounded by
confederate flags and Harleys? But goddamn, they'll
smile and wave so sweet. Here, I live in Northern oceans
meant for the hearty to emerge blue and
shivery. I can dive but not immerse. I walk cold
beaches with grit packed tight and sculpt tiny gods
out of a spoonful of sand while spectacularly cold
waves lap my toes purple. For 45 years the sea pulled
me close to her foaminess where passersby furtive
glances were as near freezing as the ocean. It was
hard to make friends here. Today I walk to the beach
where a blustery wind billows my pant legs and slips
sand in my socks. I'm trying to see where the sea
takes me, upriver, solid ground, or to ride the waves
with an unquiet power. I'm not sure what I'm saying
except I think I've decided to stay.
Sherry Fraser’s poems tend toward the weird with humor, sarcasm, confession, sadness, and love on full display. She credits her boyfriend for helping her make it through these worrisome times. Sherry’s poetry has been published in Chimera, Milvia Street, ChronesWords and The Scribbler. She lives in Point Richmond, California.
