Refugio Beach

Refugio Beach. Photo by David Cantu.

Brother piles sand on his pregnant girlfriend’s belly. 
On her sandy stomach I draw a belly button. Soon it will be dusk 

and the last surfers in the distance will disappear 
from this winter beach. We find ourselves here in a cove beneath 

the sway of palm trees; we find ourselves here marked 
by a place named beautiful in an old language that knows 

the sound the creek makes as it flows into the Pacific; we find 
ourselves here as family, me on vacation from college and them 

on vacation from a grit city, a rough-necked inland place of splintering 
concrete. Soon, but not yet First Son will be born, 

face brown and smooth as a well-washed stone. I try to catch 
a wave – this moment with my feet, don’t want it to go because

I want more of this, to wolf down a place, the blue
inside of me. Hide in the slope of this crescent

beach, far away from Bullet. We can keep 
our secrets here, in the tar that stains our feet black. 

We are not a delicate people, don’t mind the stain 
of ocean. The tide will rise with the moon but I am not ready to leave;

toes curling against sand. Later we fall asleep to waves but awaken 
to the rude sounds of the metro link reminding us this refuge is only temporary.  

Casandra Lopez is a Chicana and California Indian writer who has received fellowships from CantoMundo and Jackstraw. She’s been selected for residencies with SFAI, SAR, and Hedgbrook. Her chapbook Where Bullet Breaks was published by the Sequoyah National Research Center, and her chapbook After Bullet is forthcoming. She’s the co-founder of As Us: A Space for Writers of the World.

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