the bay

contemplate my toes,

nails painted moonbeam black (are beams black?)

and the tops of my feet,

sunburned, smeared

with aloe grease,

and bits of sand,

grainy against raw skin.
laughter floats up,

answering voice is low,

somber, in drink

soured reek of seaweed,  

cloying in this heat

languishes in the twilight

and my damp,

salt soaked hair

sticks to the side

of my flushed cheeks
 

idly, i sip  

from a plastic

dixie cup

and

swish sweet white wine

through my teeth 

air conditioner,

rusted red, time- worn

blows, stale and chilly

hum muffled

by a clouded,

sliding glass door

weak strains

from the clock radio

escape

Otis Redding sighs

in my ear

 

        I’ve been……. loooving you,

            for soo looong now

 

shamelessly bleeds

into the lull of the surf,

briny against the craggy,

jagged shore
 

muted mourning

of the sea gulls

wrenches me

from the inside out
devastatingly beautiful

in its gritty allure

 

 

                                                                                   -LS-

 

 

 

In the summer, I take Caden to the gulf. Galveston Bay. Usually, it’s just the two of us. It’s one of my favorite places to go. I do realize it’s the redheaded stepchild of the beaches, but there’s something so enchanting , so alluring about its grit. The mess of seaweed, twisted, bunched on the beach. The ramshackle, salted wooden houses, wasting away- their ratty, threadbare curtains, a placid, slight movement in the dark windows. There are so many stories to be found, it seems, down each crumbling, broken road,  and each will eventually lead you down to the coarse, rocky beach. We stay at the Commodore. It’s old. Cheap. Brick walls. Faintly stained curtains. Sliding glass doors that don’t latch all the way, so a layer of salt coats the mirrors. I adore that hotel, because every room faces the ocean, and every room has a story.  At night, after little dude falls asleep, buried, underneath sheer sheets, sweaty hands clutched around his worn, cotton stuffed tiger, I step out on the balcony, plant my ass down in the plastic lawn chair, and just breathe.  And think.