To the little Southern girl on the beach: Part one

I see you rolling in sand wearing only a swim bottom.

I envy your bare brown freedom

because my chest is too old to be brazenly sunburnt

and to be removed of the sex that has grown all over.

Wait little babe

they’ll soon crown you too, with chains.

 

I see you chase her across the beach- your other little friend,

the prettier one with lighter skin

and long braids that bounced in the wind.

She’d let you chase her but never touch,

and dropping your hands on knees you stopped,

breathless.

 

There was boundary on the sand –

the dusky part that the ocean wet

and the crisp white half that it could never get.

She was on the other side-

the one that stayed untouched by salt tears.

She laughed and laughed because…

 

You know babe,

she will break your heart one day.

It’ll either be,

that boy who’ll look at her right through you,

or the world that breaks you with its blind love young beauts.

She’ll take down your stars.

 

Babe, it’s alright,

let your knees crash to the ground.

You’ll survive.

 

But, let me tell you a secret;

a shortcut,

a little byway to no pain.

 

Next time you run up to her

let her eyes shine for a moment

but, turn around,

throw your chest in the Southern wind

to run laughing.

Babe, don’t even think about turning.

 

Wickedness is just a game that we are playing.

                                                

2014, Child on beach, Marsel Minga.