I want to stand here
In the cold buttery water
Waves curling and cresting and pushing at the shore
Like little glass figureines beating a steady pulse on the sand
I want to feel the sun coasting along my shoulders
Cotton wood drifting on the air in a steady determined stream
The ding-a-ling of an old Mexican man
pushing a cart of fruit cups up and down the beach
I want to taste the sharp bite of Tajin
And the bright sweet Chamoy
And the crunchy mild Jícama
On my tongue
It tastes like summer and LA and being 6 again
The air here hangs low and thick in the sky
It sits humid and soft
And it pulses in graceful gentle breezes
I want to jump of the dock
Weathered and steady
Into the shocking embrace of the lake
I want my cherry painted toes to s t r e t c h in the water
And my arms to pull at the water
Until I reach the surface
Taking gasps of air and smiling a messy waterlogged smile
I want to lay out on the sand
On a scratchy dollar store towel
With a pair of shorts over my head
I want to smell of sunscreen
And lake water and the snow cone I dropped
And
I will