• Overheard


by Mar Alvaray


the sand kicks up and

i didn’t bring a bag i left it

with my mom i put the seashells i find

inside my shoe and carry both with my left hand

and the river water turns salty where our lips meet

and i’m still scared of the deep water

where i can’t see where i’m walking but the sun

beats down on the shifting crystal and on my back the sun

kisses my face and my shoulders and when i get out there is sand

and salt in my hair

and fry oil and butter runs

down my hands and my elbows when i take a bite

and in the dark i hear cicadas chirp and I can smell

the salt and wind even inside and there’s bodies piled snoring

in adjacent mattresses and hanging from hammocks to fit and sweet mangoes

fall from that tree flavor bursting across my tongue

and i haven’t met You

and i miss You.

Mar Alvaray (they/he) is a nonbinary lesbian writer and artist from Venezuela. They use artistic mediums to tackle their complicated and uncharted mental landscape. He can be found on Twitter @bigand_small.

This poem was the winner of Overheard's poetry contest, with the prompt being "Endless Summer."

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