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.