Nostalgic

Since finishing One Hundred Years of Solitude I have been nostalgic. For books read when I was only half of me. Poetry found. For places. Her hair. His eyes. And hungry for colors.

Cleaned Henry's bowl today. Our Betta fish the color of a pool of water I once saw in Costa Rica or maybe in a dream. Scraping away algae the color of my sweater and remembering Alaska. Using a baby bottle brush to clean the plastic seaweed. The same brush that I used to clean bottles for my first baby, though she didn't use them much. Caught between Scylla and Charybdis, so the saying goes. I tell my students (former) though most of them haven't heard it. And what to tell self? Let go. A sunlit ribbon of seaweed, greens and blues and golds and purples making its way to the surface.