On the narrow aisles raised just above the dank sand
Sun-parched boards with splintered ends
shimmy up rusty nails, emitting a hollow chatter
beneath the feet of children
frantically picking their way across white-hot coals,
darting strategically to the random shadows
that provide the only oasis for burning soles

A city of locked wood lockers
safeguarding mildewed towels and yellow plastic shovels,
topped by a shingled roof weathered so thin
stars of daylight illumine the dark interior
once the door creaks shut and
I struggle to pull on a sandy bathing suit
over sweaty skin, banging my knee on beach chairs

Laden with cooler and chaise, I trudge to the beach
Breathing salt air infused with Coppertone,
The threadbare blanket, snapped open,
billows before descending upon the drifting dunes below
I lie face down, poked by protruding mounds,
before circling my stomach to make a shallow nest,
and the sand smells vaguely like worn out shoes

From the distant surf, carried on the summer breeze
come peals of laughter, and the terrified screams of children
immersed by anxious parents in thundering waves of frigid water
Nearby, aluminum chairs clatter, umbrellas snap open
Ice cubes slosh rhythmically inside insulated jugs
And women playing mah jong on folding card tables
exclaim “three crack”, “two bam” in a language all their own.

Stepping onto a distant beach so many years later
my toes curl reflexively, grasping the warm sand
before swirling it underfoot in sensual play
My breathing slows in the salt air, the surf becomes my mantra
and the sun wraps me safely in its arms
Though far from that dilapidated haven of childhood
I am home, and I am at peace.