Souvenir
She recalls, after a panty
raid, the beach: a midge
sprawling along the lipsticked brim
of her cocktail glass, the boy’s
fuzzy chest glistening
gold, his stories of Chicago
blizzards and shooting
massacres the flavor of pool
detergent, his fingers wondering
over her bruises, both of them
that remaining winter shy
of eighteen. He fished her up
with one arm from sinking.
Oysters and tacos festered
in the trash bin. He said
he winters along the Caribbean.
Men discreetly strip-
searching bikinied women
behind their sunglasses.
The urge to yell, we see
your eyes, and laugh
in their faces. Insects drawn
to coconut-buttered skin,
their beryl eyes slapped
into blood salts. How little
she missed the sound of snow
blowers. How she now misses
the tang of anticipation she tasted
fingering off her bikini
bottom underneath the beach
towel, palm trees casting shadows
like mosquito nets, family vacations
unraveling around.
Suphil Lee Park was born and grew up in South Korea. She holds a BA in English from NYU and an MFA in Poetry from the University of Texas at Austin. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Colorado Review, jubilat, Ploughshares, The Malahat Review, and The Southeast Review, among others.