A Poem On a Monday

When I'm on a beach or at a pool surrounded by mostly naked bodies I always think how funny it is that we expose so much of ourselves when on all other occasions we are cloaked and hidden. Imagine wearing nothing but a swimsuit to the bank or a store or a theater. I'm not advocating we all run around half naked, but picture all that skin in places deemed inappropriate for such exposure. This poem addresses that notion. It was previously published in Blue Earth Review.

At the Beach

  

Near naked, all of us, we lie down

in the sand, not sleeping, unrolled

like rugs under the sun. Or swimming,

slick-limbed, or floating. 

We are unzipped from our shame,

as if we were alone in bed.

Where else are bodies so public?

Suppose all of us here on this beach

were transposed to another place,

our unhooked bodies within the walls

of a café, eating dinner. Towels spread

out over tiles under the soft light

of ceiling fans. Loose skin exposed

on that cooled floor drinking, ordinary.

We eat without tables, take

our sandwiches from a casual

place in our laps. None of us

hiding, tucked in on ourselves.

On our backs flat or held up by

leaning elbows, we toast

to submission, promise the earth,

our bodies, to be what we are.

Casey Lord