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Online Poems |
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Pat Mora Fences |
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Fences
Mouths full of laughter,
the turistas
come to the tall hotel
with suitcases full of dollars.
Every morning my brother makes
the cool beach new for them.
5
With a wooden board he smooths
away all footprints.
I peek through the cactus fence
and watch the women rub oil
sweeter than honey into their arms and legs
10
while their children jump waves
or sip drinks from long straws,
coconut white, mango yellow.
Once my little sister
ran barefoot across the hot sand
15
for a taste.
My mother roared like the ocean,
“No. No. It’s their beach.
It’s their beach.”
from http://www.americanlifeinpoetry.org/columns/192.html
