Week 5 – Lovelies on the Beach

Frogfish & Baby by Ziggy Blicharz

Love Lies on the Beach by Katie Palmer Finn

As soon as she says it, we both know what it is, what it means, what it could mean.

We eat our sandy grapes in a cautious, wind-swept silence. Crunching down on the sand between my teeth with the grape juice squirting all up inside my mouth feels tragic. The sand tastes salty, like the weeping earth, against the sweet fruit.

I look into her face, a face that just hours before I held in my hands and kissed all over, still unsure. I see the solemn secret eyes that I have loved and feel a weight descend into my bones. Why did she do it? Am I at fault? Was I enough for her? How did I fail her?

I look again and see all the glorious laughter, all the sorrows, all the passion in that face, and betrayal seeps into my heart, that mixture of sorrow and rage. I feel that feeling as it begins tearing me apart from the inside, ripping all the pictures down from the walls of my mind like a rock star’s drug-fueled rampage.

Suddenly the wind feels cold and the sand I’m sitting on hard and I feel disgusted to be so close to her, to be so used by her. I know this is the end, at least the beginning of the end, this lie she told me this day on this beach

Soup by Susan Tepper

Mrs. Sensor was appalled by what she saw on Copacabana Beach. She’d spent her life savings on this trip. All around her, lying on towels, strolling toward the surf, playing games where things get tossed, were the naked, or near-naked of both sexes.

How can this be? she thought; wishing she’d stayed put in her tiny hamlet town in upper New England— a place where propriety still had a place! It was bad enough that she couldn’t turn on the television without people practically fornicating in the commercials! One commercial for soup had shown a couple on a bed locked in the throes of passion.

Mrs. Sensor tried making sense out of soup and passion. What could possibly happen in a bowl of soup that might end in fornication? She had eaten thousands of bowls of soup in her adult lifetime, soup from cans and soup homemade.

She pulled her sun-visor out of her beach bag and positioned it on her head. The sun on Copacabana Beach relentless as the bodies. Never once could she recall a bowl of soup having any affect other than temporarily warming her insides.

I am clueless about the world, she thought. Michael was right.

Trying to avert her eyes from the endless parade of tanned oiled bodies in such close proximity to where she sat on her hotel towel, she quickly dismissed Michael from her mind.

He’d been a mean sort of person, a bruiser; what did he know?

Lovelies on the Beach by Darryl Price

On the surface of the sand
or rolling out of the sea’s
open palms like little sleepy diamonds
they all look the same, some

different colors,some different sizes, but
the more you look at them
they seem to differentiate. More and

more come in all the time
and by then one can’t help
but start to feel a sense

of lonely loss for them, half
buried in the sand like remnants
of another civilization beyond the waves.

Back to Wk #4 – Cartography

Forward to Wk #6 – Balance of Terror


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One Response to “Week 5 – Lovelies on the Beach”

  1. It’s posts like this that make surfing so much plsueare

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