By Caitlin O’Halloran
I sit on a towel,
toes tucked into the sand,
slathering on sunscreen,
until my skin smells like summer.
Lines of seaweed etched in the ground
mark the traces of earlier high tides.
I wait for the waves to retreat,
that point where the ocean reveals
sandbars that lie like tufted pillows on the water.
When they appear,
I’ll use my bucket to construct a castle.
I’ll chase hermit crabs,
pluck them from the water,
and place them inside
the moat that circles their fortress.
When the waters start to rise again,
I’ll return to the beach house
where my Nana is waiting for me
with sandwiches made of bologna and cheese,
carefully sliced down the middle.
—
Caitlin O’Halloran is a biracial Filipino-American writer living in Rochester, New York. Her poetry and fiction have been published in literary magazines, including Gone Lawn, The Metaworker, and Twin Bird Review. www.caitlinohalloran.com