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.