| The Beachside |
Pretty faces laugh
And throw their heads back.
Silly boys with wicked dreams
Follow in the sand-shifted footfalls
Of young girls in shining, baked skin.
The clouds lift their pagoda shades
from tanned bodies and galloping feet,
Waves that slam themselves with blue
Fervor onto a beach rich with life,
The summer love of young voices.
Overhead some lost seagull cries,
Her wings spreading into the periwinkle
Of a Spring Break sky.
I tilt my straw hat and balance a little
Pink notebook atop two sun-burned knees.
I imagine the young girls don’t bother
Themselves with thoughts of a God,
Angry and ashamed of their half-naked indiscretions.
And the boys who will bow their heads this Sunday
And feign their apologies in half-mumbled prayers.
Appearing in Deeper Than Pink, Copyright © of Stacy Lynn Mar 2009
And throw their heads back.
Silly boys with wicked dreams
Follow in the sand-shifted footfalls
Of young girls in shining, baked skin.
The clouds lift their pagoda shades
from tanned bodies and galloping feet,
Waves that slam themselves with blue
Fervor onto a beach rich with life,
The summer love of young voices.
Overhead some lost seagull cries,
Her wings spreading into the periwinkle
Of a Spring Break sky.
I tilt my straw hat and balance a little
Pink notebook atop two sun-burned knees.
I imagine the young girls don’t bother
Themselves with thoughts of a God,
Angry and ashamed of their half-naked indiscretions.
And the boys who will bow their heads this Sunday
And feign their apologies in half-mumbled prayers.
Appearing in Deeper Than Pink, Copyright © of Stacy Lynn Mar 2009
| ~A woman who writes feels too much, those trances and portents! As if cycles and children and islands weren't enough; as if mourners and gossips and vegetables were never enough. She thinks she can warn the stars. A writer is essentially a spy. Dear love, I am that girl.~ Anne Sexton |
| Stacy Lynn Mar |