Romans Pizza and Grill

Like shards of classic blue on white china these sand etched shells fly past in the long back wash of each wave down the smooth slope of the beach. The boys swing whole kelp at each other, sand spattering their faces, and on this immense beach, all these thousand miles of water rush over whales and sea grass  to cool my toes, the call of a killdeer abbreviated by the wind. The teenage girl who waited on us at lunch rarely visits the beach, her life defined by thoughts of getting away from this small town. And we, giddy tourists wading in her wake, notice all the people gawking at the absence of land. We travel to lose sight of home, to glimpse the unfamiliar so that returning; we can remember what others overlook.  And at the end of her shift, the smell of food on her clothes, the waitress rushes to a movie, the raw explosion of sky containing only the broken vase of clouds pouring out a stain of sun against the darkening sound.