Our Beach (Juara Beach)
Part One
1988
Beijing, China.
A frozen wind, long from Mongolia
(or is it Siberia?; I forget)
Scrapes on my bones.
Enough!
White sand beaches, and turquoise waters
and a nose peeling from too much sun, I want
a fresh fish dinner, cooked outside
on a grill
with tropical fruits for dessert.
Can I come?, you ask.
I'm surprised.
You sit next to me
in class, we chat
but you seem, well
meek, delicate
Trouble.
Part Two
We travel, you and I.
Koh Samui, Penang, Pangkor - islands all.
We have no plans, no schedule
no worries, except
finding the perfect beach.
Part Three
Is this the boat?, you ask.
The small fishing boat, that will thrash about
in the nighttime South China Sea, as we
sit on deck
seawater soaking our faces
salt caking our hair
your eyes wide, as
a fish jumps into your lap?
Yes, I reply.
Part Four
We trace a journey
from west to east, climbing
Tioman
a string for a trail.
Ancient trees, towering over
hissing lizards, monitoring
our progress
until
At once, high above, rests
at our feet
a sweeping crescent moon of a beach.
Our Beach (Juara Beach)
Wide and soft
its waters, warm and clear.
In front, a sky
so blue
its quiet beauty stumbles my thoughts.
At our backs, massive sentinels, stand
deep in greens and blacks
offering the songs
of the beetle, the egret, and the siamang.
You and I, traveled hard
to find our paradise.
______________________
regards,
JS |
