My Ode to Boquerón

Childhood is a beach in Boquerón.

It’s eating rotisserie chicken with bread and Doritos, while wearing a wet bathing suit.

It’s listening to your mom’s cassettes so many times, your own conscience begins sound like Emmanuel.

It’s being fussed over by your grandma.

It’s hanging a hammock from a palm tree.

It’s falling from the improperly secured hammock hanging from a palm tree.

It’s listening to someone strumming a guitar while the grill got hot.

It’s being yelled at for not wanting to wait the obligatory FULL HOUR after eating before swimming again.

It’s sculpting mermaid tails out of sand.

It’s ruining your brand new Barbie doll with salty water.

It’s not having an appropriate place where to pee.

It’s grandpa with his crazy umbrella hat that broke right away.

It’s celebrating two of your cousins’ birthdays at the same time.

It’s not being able to light the candle because the strong breeze won’t allow it.

It’s being yelled at by your grand uncle while he simultaneously films you doing a cartwheel.

It’s being bitten by an ant, a mosquito and a bee in the exact same spot on your left calf.

It’s rushing back to the car with a towel over your head because it started to rain. Even though you’re still wet from swimming all day.

It’s sandy toes in the car.

It’s thinking how awesome it is to show up late to mass and have that cute boy notice you have the most amazing, albeit, painfully angry tan.

It’s going to bed and still feel like the waves are carrying you, and the whole world is swaying from all the fun you just had.

Childhood is a beach in Boquerón.

  • May 11, 2016
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