On Trinidad Beach a fat-bellied rock woman sits and keeps watch over the Pacific sea. Sprigs of black huckleberry sprout from the back of her head. She has a name, I just don't know it. During storms she dances to the drumming of the water on the shore. She lunges into the tides, weeping and laughing for the earth, remembering the dark ocean floor before the ecstatic earthquakes, her luscious birth.



When the nights are thick with fog she plays the samisen. Her song is the song God played when he created the world. If you were to hear it your heart would dissolve into lye and your bones would pancake into flat red and white stones, perfect for skipping on still waters.