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At the Beach
by Ariane Bolduc
She sat in the white wicker chair,
a bowl of grapefruit, her fingers wet
with juice. The lifting of her left brow
wasn’t flirtatious, but he might have whispered
Be with me, just to see if it could be,
to see if the chilled fruit (each slice torn
half open) that she raised to her mouth
might stop before reaching her lips.
But he bit his lip instead, watched her
blonde head turn back to the incoming tide.
He wished she would laugh, say something
more, point to a gull skimming the surface,
move the bowl from her lap to the floor.
Be with me, he heard himself plead,
though he knew if he said it aloud
she would follow – He turned,
left for another coast, left her
profile against peach-colored sky.
Sea-smell. Silver sand. Tumbling water
beneath the broad sun sinking –
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Jellyfish
by Ione Citrin
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