Sámara, Costa Rica

They tell me to enjoy myself,
while ushering me out of the house,
smiles, nods and “Pura vidas!”
until I am out of sight.

No one is at the beach today.
Seaweed sprawls like destitute bodies along the sand.

I sit, rest my head against my knees,
watch my toes stir the sand,
and curse the sun as it sears a yoke around my neck.
It’s so hard to get comfortable.

I’m on vacation.

I think, ‘the quiet is like a vacuum,
drawing foreign sounds
from obscure sources…
is that the ocean or a sob?’

I intended to travel alone,

but the mind is that clingy companion,
impartial to longitudes and latitudes,

unwilling to be left behind.