fraying terrycloth towels dusted
with salt and sand rubbed in
between my toes (in between mykneesmysknucklesoh
god it’s everywhere).
we stared at the sun until it disappeared
over the horizon; I can’t explain why but something about it glows
the same as the feeling of your
fingers resting on my sunburned thigh.
lycra pulls over my hips and I forget
to be self-conscious-- maybe I’ve had too many daiquiris but maybe instead I’m drinking in your freckles and your eyes
like shining tidepools. you are a sea urchin
in the tender flesh of my sole. you melt me
like ice cream on the burning sidewalk.
darling I hope we see a shark – no -- I hope
we see a whale because I feel
as big as one. I hope
the undertow drags us in until we can no longer
sense the shore behind us and we don’t
fight we just feel
ourselves swallowed by the pulsing.
we molt our skin into scales and melt
until we are
into something rich and strange.
nothing but fish and foam bobbing endlessly over a churning sea.
Olivia Broderick (she/her) is a performer, educator, and three garden gnomes stacked on top of one another masquerading as an adult woman. Her work has appeared in Hyacinth Review, The Lovers Literary Journal, and Armstrong Lit. She can be found performing on opera stages across the Greater Philadelphia region and on Twitter @TeatroOlivia and Instagram @liv_broderick