essays by shé

bookshelf

Tag: Pacific

  • Branded

    I’ve got it bad. I took a Sharpie to the pale blue hoodie and wrote Habibi’s name on the back, adding silver spritzes to the i’s. Retrieved the freshly washed cotton dresses — one grey, one black — and did it again, adding a red heart to the grey one. Some folks doodle their first…

  • La Bomba

    Para bailar la bomba, se necesita una poca de gracia. To dance the diesel engine water pump dance, you need a smidgen of grace. Because the mechanic everyone recommends does not respond to text, phone, email, or WhatsApp. But you have marina angels on your side, and hard-won patience. You finally garner an appointment, to…

  • Gratitude

    The bottom of my foot was sliced open Sunday. Badly. It’s healing nicely, but I’m wary of putting any pressure on it. So today, finally, I asked for help. My mother taught me not to, she was stoic. I am too, but I need water, a shower, bananas, and garbage disposal.  Organizing myself to row…

  • The Journey

    Habibi came with a mug that encourages me to enjoy the journey.  I’m not always able to do this. Some days, say, when the engine is leaking saltwater and the cockroaches are jauntily taking over the boat, I say to that cup, Fuck you! Other days, say, when there’s a rainbow or I’ve just met a…

  • Friend or Food?

    The more I snorkel, the fewer fish I eat. Yes, I know, fish eat fish. But after meeting an octopus, I was distressed to see her on the menu of a local café. Such grace and beauty, fried on a plate? No way, man.  I am not a fan of ‘catch and release’ either. If…

  • Mine

    Paid the seller, paid the broker, not paying to fix the hull blisters at this expensive marina because the surveyor says it can wait until next year’s haul-out. Habibi is mine, all mine. No one can evict me. No one can raise the rent. I can paint her inside and out — any color! —…