If you make it to California,
I hope it cures you.
I hope the sunshine burns
your hooked nose,
darkening that bridge of freckles
that came out when we
spent hours laid in blades of grass.
I hope you learn to like the beach
the sand that sticks to you no
matter how you brush it from your
legs. No matter how I brushed it
from your legs.
I hope you buy a pair of sunglasses
from a man with a board of them and
like the way they look in the hand
mirror he holds to you
and the pit in your stomach goes away.
I hope it cures you, the salt and palms
the distance between you and my face
begging you to smile.
I hope you find
that cure
one I couldn’t find for you.

Claire Beaver
Claire Beaver is a multidisciplinary writer living and working in New York. Her work has been featured in Last Leaves Magazine, Outspoken, Victory Lapped, and more. Her first chapbook, bones, ashes, fire, was recently released from Bottlecap Press. She is passionate about the power of art and how we interact with it in our daily lives, whether that be conscious or not. She has an M. Phil in Creative Writing from Trinity College Dublin.
Comments