by Nina Medeiros

Created on: April 02, 2009

A Day at the Beach (Well, a night actually)

We are 15 year old girls on Friday night dates

We sparkle brightly like fireworks that flicker then die

like ash, falling over the ocean

our stories muddled and choppy

stirring yet unknown places inside us

The smooth sand of the beach is a home we visit

cliquing in small groups around cases of warm beer

that warm and erode the uncertainty between and within us,

our lips tighten as they dry with the salt in the air.

I sit cross-legged next to a girl we call Turtle

for her slow blue eyes and thick neck.

"Mais Oui, Monsieur" she cries, stretching short pudgy fingers across the beach.

There sits Billy, a senior boy she has no chance with.

"Cheer up" a 12th grader whistles, walking by.

"There's always next year" she says, flipping us the bird.

Next year,

A safety pin which clips us delicately to our future.

We are still burning there, still embers

then ash,

then earth, then

the worms eating methodically through our perceptions.

Next year, again

choppy and uncertain,

with waves

that come and go out of habit,

in thick swells, they reveal

who it is

we think we are.

Next year.

Geometry. Government. More French.

More Friday nights,

beneath gauzy veiled stars

sitting around fires which have done all they can to concesal us.

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