Sunday, June 2, 2013
we drive. car chugging along the crush of waves. not far but far enough to forget long train rides, arraignments, parking tickets, overtime, “designer vaginas,” and early-morning cat callers. amongst the eucalyptus and low hanging orange trees, we spread a purple quilt, rub coconut sunscreen between our toes. a bee lands on yr checkered shirtsleeve; you sit very still. i smear sunscreen on my shoulders, neck, and face till i smell good enough to eat. the bee, eyeing a split piece of fallen fruit, flies off. all the snacks we packed: devoured in the car. nothing left for us to do but lay down, let the heat turn the pages of our books yellow.