Beach hair

Sunning my face
under a city street light
soaking in winter raindrops
I refuse to wash the beach out of my hair

Guiding flags

Between red flags in sand dunes
and yellow in the field of cattails and bamboo
I walk forever wrapped in white flags-
surrendering to the bottomless sky

Cookies on the beach

Sunning until I bake
like a cookie
I’ve been called delicious
but I am a guilty pleasure
the enemy of every fat girl
Happy round girl don’t cry
this cookie doesn’t rise, but deep fries
Done over and over again
past the timer
Lying flat and crisp
under the oven light
burnt, dehydrated, inedible
inevitably suspect to any cup of milk,
even that imposter-Silk
Imagination only can bring
the sensation-
Sweet
I am no treat to meet
There are no secret
ingredients to soften
the absurdity
of a cookie
left on the beach