So, you think you want a story?
Let’s start with a beach, then.
Not the sunny one of thirty years
and one-thousand miles south ago,
the one full of Farrah Fawcett curls,
white crocheted bikinis laced
against smooth brown skin,
and the conquering of waves
you hoped would hide the turmoil
at the very bottom
of your deepest middle.
No, let’s start this story
with the gray beach that came later,
the one that breaks like question marks
into hard packed soak and fog,
the one that is too cold for hiding anything
other than your desire to walk
right into it with your back turned
on a stiff line of people you love,
who watch without reaching
as each step you take carries you
a little further out of focus.
Let’s start there on that beach,
and then let’s just leave it at that.
First appeared in IthacaLit - Winter 2015/2016