OBX

Playa Colorada

By Peg Boyers

It was a beach

like all beaches, only perhaps more beautiful.

And the sand was pink not red.

We would arrive in caravans,

hampers overflowing with food and drink

like Aziz and his party on the way to Malabar.

The colonials and their servants away on an outing.

We would stop under thatch umbrellas,

towels and tablecloths spread out against the sea.

My mother in her skirted swim suit

surrounded by fathers of other children,

her olive skin lit through her straw hat.

They would laugh and drink beer

and leer

while the children did the usual beach things,

boring futile tunnels to China, running

at waves and then away,

daring each other to be swallowed.

I would go out by the forbidden rocks and pick off oysters,

then give them to the men to pry open,

cover with lime juice and suck dry.

Once, I saw my mother sucking

an oyster out of another daddy’s hand.

Her dappled face bobbed and smiled and her tongue

searched the shell for pearls.

Peg Boyers, "Playa Colorada" from Honey with Tobacco. Copyright © 2007 by Peg Boyers. Reprinted by permission of The University of Chicago Press.

OBX

Summer and sand

Salt and the sea

Water as clear as could be

Towels bleached by the sun

Surfboards covered in wax

We all lie out and relax

Tents provide shade from above

Sandwiches and soda enjoyed

Then the boogie-boards are deployed

Skin transitions to a shade of dark

Yellows and oranges and reds

The sun slowly falls behind out heads

And so it ends

Another wonderful day with friends

All in a summer beach day