Sea Salt
The red, yellow, and blue beach ball floats in
A salty breeze spiced with nuances of musty sweat
As grains of sand catch between every nook and cranny
While Mother’s hands slap our backs until they are shining with SPF
Before we wade into sloshing water to cool out burning feet,
And we pick seashells that slice our palms open, and
That thin beady red line of blood ensues; but it only adds to the scrapes
And bruises from playing too hard, though we give nonchalant
Shrugs saying, “It doesn’t hurt,” but
Beach balls have turned into jet skis that race across frothing water as we
Sport sunburns that start to form as they
Peel away our aching skin, until those
Shorelines recede until we cannot see them,
And only then can we find those tiny,
Irisdescent fish, so we plunge into the
Watery world down below as navy
Blue envelops our tired bodies and
Briny salt forces itself into our lungs
And seawatery pain dissolves into our wounds.
* * *
Learning Tongues
Tongues clumsy, eyes blurred, throat parched,
The resonances of another land, history, and culture
Bend and thrust together in uncharted
Rhythms, and I feel like a child who has
Forgotten how to walk, relearning
Unsteady footsteps, when the act of walking
Is not yet second nature. My mouth
Is a maladroit muscle, twisting
Stiffly into the unseen, and before each
Morpheme can be intercepted, conscious
Translation interrupts fluidity, ease,
A dam that slows the river, and
Splotches the coursed circulation, yet
After a while the dam cracks, as
The once-meaningless noise takes shape and
I have learned a new way to walk.
Photo header by Tim J. Keegan