We lay little in the sand and the sun the sun sweetly squeezed our shoulders. We belonged to our father the sun. We lay long on the lawn doing deals with the sun. We broiled ourselves in coconut oil sizzling our perfect skin for our personal chef, the sun. We opened our arms in the sea and lifted our face to the sun our personal private sun. We married our hero the sun. Now late I know the sun is not mine alone not a personal sun but a neutral one its warming trapped and magnified by too many frantic us. I hide my eyes I hide my skin with cream and sleeves and hats. I show myself to the sun from a darkened peepshow booth not letting him in. And the weather reporter reports with glee another drought embedded another sunny day ahead. Everyone go to the beach! Whoopee! for your personal dose of sun.
~ Rachel McAlpine 2021