Cicada's WingsThe fan oscillates
Mimicking the droning
Noise of the cicada's wings.
Laying on my back,
The rug feels coarse and
The walls look greener
From this angle.
The fan funnels flowing air
Onto our bodies
As does my voice.
Your hands grab my hair
Still salty from the sea air.
The walls close in
Creating a false sense of privacy.
The plastic stars on the ceiling
Glow in the dark
Creating a false sense of romance.
Motorcycle ReflectionsI held onto you for dear life
Feeling some sort of protection,
Because you had lived so much longer than I have.
My arms wrapped around your waist,
Holding your shirt down as the wind
Tried to lift it off--
Something I was not brave enough to do to you.
I could smell the dirt on your neck, the day's hard work.
I knew you were peeking at me
Through your mirror to see why I was giggling
The wind molded my face into a smile,
You sped faster to make sure it never left.
You told me that every time you accelerated,
You could feel my body getting tense against yours.
Did you like it as much as I did--
The exhilaration, the speed, the wind?
I wondered if the black hairs on your arms
Reflected what the salt and pepper hair on your head
Used to be.
I wondered if you felt safe wrapped in my arms,
When was the last time you were wrapped in a woman's arms?
Against your back
I tried to listen through the
Disruptive wind as you
Explained why you loved your motorcycle
Where Do I Belong?Sitting on the rock wall
Admiring the waves crashing on the jetty,
Salt crystals scratch my skin like sand paper.
The tourists and their five person family,
All wearing matching sun hats and
Carrying a kite,
Wander underneath my feet to
Dig for clams.
My father dug for clams
When I was five, just to make ends meet halfway.
He never found it fun, glorious, satisfying,
Like these tourists do.
Stopping after the youngest daughter
Cuts her finger
On a shattered shell
She peers in my direction,
And blood trickles into the sand
I thought belonged to me.
She looks amazed that I am not as tan as a native,
Or why I am not brushing my salt laced hair
With the bones of a codfish.
I jump off the rock wall, managing to keep my sandals on
And I push my salt drenched hair from my eyes.