Mele Beach

Why this eternal return
to islands, and beaches
where everything written
is washed away?

Pinching myself hard on the thigh
I tread water, and gaze—unbelieving
across the gently heaving waves, to a palm-fringed beach
where a solitary child, white school shirt unbuttoned
flapping in the sun—runs home across the sand
over the fallen tree, up the road to Mele village

A frigate bird screeches, swooping
for a fish, thrown high from the hand
and a bright red bucket—to my delight
riding for hours—an endless tide of gifts
rising—falling—rising again, wrinkling my fingertips
sending me back to my towel and jandals

2 thoughts on “Mele Beach

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