X Oh (a poem)

May 20, 2008

The sky is salty
and the air
tastes like a carnival.
The ocean slaps
my sandy scrapes,
as we share glances
and crinkle cut fries,
link our fingers
and stories.

Your mom used to
take you to the beach
in floaties, yet
you still hung on
like her favorite
medallion.

My least favorite
relatives
won their title
for attempting
to drown me
multiple times
when I was younger,
the reason why
I didn’t learn
how to swim until
I was thirteen.

I start to wonder if I'm talking too much…

Until our fly away
pieces of hair
twirl with the wind,
and we huddle
in our sweatshirt
embrace.

But as our
cotton candied lips
form an ‘X’
for the first time,
I can’t help
but think of
how my legs
feel like
naked cacti.