GRIEF Poem: The Beach, by Courtney Hatcher

Paradise Pointe
calls for me
every June,
Teal tower,
Apartment 6B,
Three rooms
to suit twelve,
A close fit
but it didn’t matter,
We’re right in front
of the beach.

Sunday,
Perfect blue,
Splashing around
before noon,
I’ll be
a sinister pirate
and you’ll be
my mermaid,
Greatest play
this crowd
will ever see.

My youth,
Make-believe,
Transforming into
the books I
pack with me,
Don’t touch
the tanning lotion
rubbed all over me,
Snow-White skin,
I’m so sick of
looking like this.

Adult years,
Self-loathing is
my daily routine,
But when I step
into this condo
I love again,
Serotonin shaped
in low tides
and Oreo sundaes,
How could I
hate myself here?

February,
Long-distance
but not for
a long time,
Until suddenly
we’re through,
Grandpa announces
on a random afternoon,
This can’t be true,
Didn’t he love it
as much as me?

And I cry
as if I died,
Cause that’s better
than driving by,
New bodies,
Standing on
my balcony,
Will it still be
a crime
if I push them
out of grief?

All-consuming,
It blinds how
we’re all hurting,
He didn’t want
to sell it,
But the doctor’s
getting worried
about his wife,
Prescribed those
weekend getaways
to get away.

It was done
for the best,
And it’s not like
I’ll never see
the sea again,
Different stay,
Adjusting body,
I’m sure I’ll cry
over this too,
But at least
I’m at the beach.

Paradise Pointe
calls for me
every June,
My mind is
a scrapbook of
family breakfasts
and sappily laughs,
I’ll gift them
as an heirloom
when you’re older,
My sweet Summer