How can I ever tell you that
in the 21st century,
as innocent as you are,
you will be sexualized.

It started with
one peak under that skim cloth
that made you an icon
Halloween costumes
turned your baby face into
the mask of a "babe"

There are no more dogs
struggling to tear your short shorts
now only mutts scattering clubs
hands dangling onto your belt loops
as if they were in the middle of a hurricane

You, Coppertone Baby, didn't know any better
you were minding your own **** business
vacationing on the beach
when somebody had the audacity to snap a picture
of your ***.
Sweet little girl,
you are us.

You are society's expectations of innocent women
so easily willing to publicize our bodies
printed on billboards
sold in magazines
You put your hair up for vanity
but we tie our hair back to avoid
violent hands
You, Coppertone Baby
will never be known as Cheri,
just like today,
we are branded into the clothes made to hide our bodies
but couldn't do it enough
we are the voiceless

We are the shadows hiding behind anatomy
we are nip-slips
we are on the front cover
of ******* magazines
You grew up not expecting it
merely existing
only knowing the words,
"mommy and daddy."

Welcome, Coppertone Baby,
to the present, not so much a gift
where your first words are now,
"thank you"
the camera is constantly pointed
constantly asking you to sit pretty
you will learn to avoid beaches
and only buy the clothes
that suffocate your skin


I know you were meant to sell sunscreen
but how can I ever buy your product
if I can't even hardly
go outside.

Glistening crowds shuffle in detached cadence
Sweating long necks on a production conveyer
The boardwalk
Pungent saltwater and fried dough coalesce
Ocean meets carnival

Teen screams and seagull shrieks
A multitude of color variation
Red to black
A scent of Coppertone and Noxzema
To ease the pain of the vain and pale

Summer at Happy Hampton Beach
Arcade upon arcade
Clinking bells and whirly sounds
“You're a Winner!”, the mechanical voice screams
Summer fades as do the summer flings, until next year

People don't understand what it means,
how it feels.
When you're laying in the rain,
they just don't understand.
Letting your face soak in the muddy grass,
they don't know how it feels.
Wanting to sink in,
be swallowed whole,
suffocate.
Your body is waiting but your mind is already there.
And when you finally sink,
you're back on the surface,
like Sisyphus,
pushing a big ****** boulder of regret and pain.

You're soakin' in the sun,
I'm sinking in the mud,
you've got Coppertone,
I've got blood.

That warm copper taste,
on the tip of your tongue,
man, it's electrifying.
Holding your breath,
hoping your head pops off.
Yeah, you're losing it,
we're losing it.
Or were we already lost?
I thought you knew me,
I thought I knew you.
You thought we were all the same,
but the sun doesn't touch us all.

You're soakin' in the sun,
I'm sinking in the mud,
you've got Coppertone,
I've got blood.

You're soakin' up the sun,
I'm sinking in the mud,
I'm sinking in the drunk,
I'm sinking in my blood.

Its cold in my room tonight
Throat swollen, mouth tastes just like
Two days ago, weeping on my bed
Your face so red, eyes swelling
Like all the times I admitted
The hole that I am constantly trying to fill.

I remember just for a brief moment
Maybe because the past has skated through my mind
Via the interwebs tonight
I started to feel faint
As we stood, looking down at the performers from up above
We had to leave, you were so mad at me
Local dive bar by my old Philadelphia house
That my darkest past now resides and plays house in
Perhaps cooking stuffed chicken with goat cheese
And all the times I hopped in a cab and tried to leave
All the scratches and ****** marks, holes in walls near my head
Painted on me like cinnamon or paprika spices
Behind.
I remember sitting in the booth, across from you
My Artsy Cynical Bohemian
I was so much lighter before you drove your fingernails
Into the shoulder blades of my back
With black dust and pointed silver
But you didn't know you were digging up buried wings.
I can't quite pin point specific words that were said
But I remember feeling a deep neglect.

It feels like just yesterday
My life was completely different
Walking outside my little stairs
Cafes and restaurants all around me
Swiftly kicking my legs to the gym
Or a friends to smoke ****
Walking dogs all hours of the day
Sleep overs, red velvet pancake
Inking our notebooks with evocative thoughts, creations
So hopeful, full of dreams
Worried about the little things
Pumpkin spice, or all the boys I cried over
Everything feeling and seeming so complex
But so very small.

I wonder how it all fairs, without me now
As it takes me 45 minutes to get anywhere
In the icy windy city
And this is the most sick I have repeatedly been
Since I was a little kid
Mama wishes I was home so that she could take care of me
As I try to rationalize my love life
Or confusing "lack" of one over mobile devices.

I think this is the most alone I've ever been
If you could write that out just like I did
With my calligraphy pen, a sweet Christmas gift
From a dear friend
Who often sits next to me, deep in thought
His thoughts distracted, it seems as though he
Would rather be anywhere else
But we play drinking games, my eyes tantalizing
Passing out in the Lost Boys bedroom
As you read these words,
I want you to take a deep moment to think about
How richly good it felt for you to hold me in your arms
To cover me in forgotten kisses, caresses
As you fall asleep tonight
Embracing or running away from the image of my
Corn husk face
In your butterfly colored mind.

"Your body is bangin.' You have the body of a **** star."
Another said to me just earlier this week.
He's tried to see me several times since then
As I prefer my own company.

Its funny how my mind will imagine
And write stories
Doors closing in my face as new ones widely open
Back to you.
Lets freeze time for a singular moment
Walking past the train that sunny fall day
Damen blue line, your hand gently grazed in between
Where my wings use to--
Where my wings are--
Where my
What a sorrowful day that was.
You agree with me, you say
As we text across the bus or train
Adoring each other like strangers
Fleeting, intoxicating moments
And the hard cold fact
Is that I haven't felt this way
In a very long ******* time
And I don't know when I will again.

Tick ******* tock.
If I were a superhero
I would fly high into the clouds and give everyone lasting
Happiness.

Until something levels better comes along
I am reassured,
My throat welling up as if caught in a blender
That I dive into with blueberries, frozen banana
As you cuddle me, big white tennis shoes
But such a small frame
I see you and I see you and I begin to still
Even see you
For who and what you really are now.

Nina Simone
I watched her on my computer screen tonight
What a mighty, mighty woman
Worshipped, misunderstood
Beautiful, talent like a phoenix
Crooning her art into existence.

And there it is again
A fleeting moment of the past
And how hard I tried to make that
Into a lasting entity.
My God, I have spent my life
Trying to make it work.
Buying a drink, waiting for you
I remember the first time you almost left me
I was so ashamed of myself the next day
For having almost caused you to do such a thing
We met up on the street,
The Philly sunshine springing towards us
As you patted and tapped my *****, so lovingly
Like I would always be yours.

But we changed, or maybe we never really were
And I see the twinkling lights
Of when my mother smoked a cigarette in front of you
As you both inhaled and exhaled smoke
In what I wanted to be
Our fairytale story, purple cauliflower
And I knew deep in my heart
That you had no prominent plans
For our future.

My Little Peter Pan
You are the first to really
Do that
Since him
And there is a sense of such love, contentment
In those love taps
On the backside you deem:
"So Coppertone."

I worry and I fear my own ticking clock
Of being stuck or isolated in never fully moving forward
As powerful women sit merely feet away from me
Empowering and inspiring, living and dreaming
Having their art, their families, their love
I want it all.

But in time, in time
As I gaze at age 25
Lament not having this or that
So many text messages
You or he or they
Shield me from ripping your heart into pieces
As I lay next to you floating in a terminal of wine and whiskey
Men around me saying they have never encountered such strength
Such empowerment
How threatening.

When I was a little girl
I always broke the rules.

the rustling of the leaves in the trees
the audible tremble
of a collective chill
sounds just like the beach

my front porch
a shining metropolitan shore
the sun seems to soften into welcoming;
a different sun
that doesn’t scowl hotly over apartment complexes
and make liquid of asphalt and people

a benevolent warmth
you can only get
out of the city

the air rubs itself in coarse salt
and Coppertone

this glass of water
in my hand
may well be the ocean
the shift in my lap
the waves
a floating leaf
a boat
adrift on cerulean seas

the children laughing and playing here
are the same children
laughing and playing there, too

i am reminded that everything
can be given a new life
if you tell a wild heart
of an ordinary thing

if i just
close my eyes
a beach
is never far away

Love me for who I am
Skim milk skin with
Pink floating in
Coppertone hair and
Trident gum snap
Wax figure hands riddled with blue snake veins
Crushed broken toes and
A metal belly button
Liquified speech
And self important bangs
Long eyed glances and
Sun melted shoulders.
Love me for what I am.
No one will be the wiser

I feel you lurking in the shadows
of my
     mind
and
     heart
and
     soul
A benign
reminder
sends me into orbit
out of space and time...

coppertone coated in salty perspiration...

a soundbite about weather on the other side of the country...

the crunch of pad thai.........

And there you are with
your nose pressed into the trap door
hidden deep inside me

I am from glowing, late night campfires, from Coppertone sunscreen and colorful thread bracelets that rested across my thin wrists.

I am from the winding pavement of Riford Road, but that home isn’t what made me. I was made by the ceaseless games of capture the flag and the smoky haze of fireworks on the 4th of July, the sleepless slumber parties and the heart shaped waffles that followed the next morning.  

I am from the beaches of Lake Michigan and the sand that sparkles like millions of jewels in the sun. With our sticky hands covered in chocolate ice cream and the melodic cadence of waves crashing into shore, erasing our names that we wrote in the sand with our chubby fingers.

I am from ultra competitive poolside games of Uno, and generations of people who either can’t say no or refuse to say yes. From Betsy and the black and white pictures that cover the walls of her home to her age-old family recipe for chocolate chip cookies. From Cullen’s bookshelf that towers over even the tallest of men, each novel packed next to each other like a can of sardines. From Jack, who’s childhood torment turned me into the person I am today, a little bit tougher and a little bit stronger.

I am from the family reunions which are less of a reunion and more of a debate, every one of us desperately trying to speak the last word. From the tough, stone cold stubbornness that each of us possess like a small voice in the back of our minds egging us on.

From mantras of “It could be worse” and the “It will always get betters.”

I am from sugary cinnamon buns on Christmas morning, muddled by the laughter of all my cousins and the cheesy carols playing over the radio.

I'm from the quaint, colorful streets of Charlevoix and the shops full of salt water taffy and their wax paper wrappers that litter the ground. A melting *** of freckled Scots and dark-haired Dutchman, all with the same wide, toothy grin. From the gooey gobs of marshmallow that stain our hands late at night, mixing with a crackling fire and waves slamming against the shore, the stars above us gleaming even brighter than the light radiating from our smiles.

From jumping into ice cold swimming pools in the middle of October, my brother by my side. With our skin freckled with goosebumps and our bones chilled to the core, we splashed and laughed until our bodies were numb and our parents forced us to get out. From the lazy summer afternoons that turned into starry nights. From jumping shoulder to shoulder into the deep rivers of Montana, our laughs suffocated by the frigid water as we ricocheted downwards.

I am from the small cardboard box sitting on the musty floor of our basement, teeming with memories captured at the other end of a  camera. Sepia pictures of my grandmother when she was no more than three years old with her white parka and oil black hair, looking into the lens like she was seeing the entire world. Photographs of my mother at the same age as me, her eyes overflowing with optimism and a smile made of gold, all too similar to my own.

The soft and tan and young and lovely
Makes us all think life we're lovely-
But don't get delusional-
You're not little Miss Sunbeam
Soft and tan and young and lovely...
Soft and tan and young and lovely...

Under your
big nippled
tops.


delicious back

somersault
tumbles,


tickling my

chin as you

would
fly by

over head.


trampoline

spike
bounces

off my
Coppertone
brown

belly ,

as you
would

melt
over me

and my

thighs

applaud....


our passion

was a
three

ring circus
then.


contortionist,

soul grapplers

and sin.


and what
is left

to us
now but
scars

still
unreconciled,


inside

and out,

cuts unkind
that

validate
the ticket
and price

of our

love's admission

we each
paid full ticket
that summer.


to be
even for
the shortest

of times,

under your
big nippled
tops.


the greatest

show on
earth.

Why should it make me sad,
to watch the wind move through the leaves
of an elm tree in late May,
a great green cloud against the bluest sky.

Or to smell the sun heat the asphalt,
and tiny globes of sweat and Coppertone on my skin -
the golden smell of summer,
of knees skinned and healed and skinned again,
of sun-faded flags,
red white and blue dancing mounted on neighbors' porches,
neatly folded and forgotten the rest of the year.

Or to sit in my backyard
in the receding light with what is left of the day,
and listen in utter longing to the katydids
humming their summer incantation.
And wish, that if I could only bottle the sound
as I once did the magic of fireflies,
that repairing loneliness was as easy as opening jar.

(Apologies to T.S. Eliot)*

I
The scorching noonday settles down,
The scent of Coppertone on naked backs.
At the beach.
The lukewarm beer and paper sacks
Of gritty snacks
Packed early when the day began
Are now declined by sunburnt throngs
Who toss the refuse toward the can
But miss,
Delighting eager gulls that plunge
Headlong
To dive in screeching glee for treats
Not caring that the eats
Are full of grunge.
They feast in bliss
On rye and Swiss.  
Soon, hungry, blistered bathers stiffly stand
Now mindful of the quantity of sand
Inside their shorts and thongs.

And then the stiff walk to the pier
To find a shower and cold beer.

Her cheeks golden apples
Voice a hushed whisper
She smells like coconut Coppertone and sunshine
Her cotton candy lipgloss is sticky on my lips
Tanned skin salty from the surf
Smooth and soft like a puppy’s belly
Blonde hair sun-streaked, warm
Stomachs flip-flopping with teen-crush happiness

Gotta go…
Why?
I know.
Hate it though.

So we linger
To watch the surf swallow the sun

under your
big tops.


delicious back

somersault
tumbles,


tickling my

chin as you

would
fly by

over head.


trampoline

spike
bounces

off my
Coppertone
brown

belly ,

as you
would

melt
over me

and my

thighs

applaud....


our passion

was a
three

ring circus
then.


contortionist,

soul grapplers

and sin.


and what
is left

to us
now but
scars

still
unreconciled,


inside

and out,

cuts unkind
that

validate
the ticket
and price

of our

love's admission

we each
paid full ticket
that summer.


to be
even for
the shortest

of times,

under your
big tops.


the greatest

show on
earth.

A red bikini,
in trout green water,
a beauty like the sun,
yet so much hotter.

Texas star ball cap,
in hand, rod and reel,
glistening in Coppertone,
she is the real deal.

Floating stringer,
clipped to hip tied strings,
I'm just hoping,
a shark wants that thing.

She sets the hook,
reels a big trout in,
but I have thoughts
of original sin.

She wades on by,
gives me a smile,
then heads on down,
the tailwater miles.

The sweetest of tears,
Golden girl cries,
As poems and songs,
Cascade from her eye's,
To honeycomb seas,
And coppertone skies.