June

Once in a blue moon we find ourselves standing naked together.

Today, between the beach and high bluff, a grove of cottonwood
stands head-high, springy branches less cover than we choose to see
as we swap swimsuits,
struggling with sandy snaps, sunburn, secrecy.
Your tan limbs guard pale flesh,
yours and mine.
Sharp grass in the six inches between our feet,
breathless smiles reflected before we look away,
shocked by circumstance.

Of all the things, you say above the hush of waves,
laughing at the blue moon past when
your parents made us bathe together,
barely looking, adolescent and ashamed.
Remembering how we showered,

how we shampooed,

how we promised

to never tell.

For Caitlin, 2007