Es Llaner Beach
By: Dana Aparicio
In Es Llaner beach, somewhere, there is a house by the edge of the sea.
Or was. It might not be there anymore.
It was a place I visited a lot in my youth when I needed to escape,
feel close enough to the town I would never reach.
I found it by accident and yet it did not feel like one,
it was open and furnished and it was a home to someone before me.
I stood by the windowsill and reached out towards the sun before it could hide,
trying to grab the sun by its rays so I could take a piece of it with me,
I didn't realize I had been yearning for that type of warmth my entire life.
The ocean rippled as your boat approached the edge of the house, the window, where I was.
Your skin was honeyed and your eyes light and I understood what it meant to
feel like you have known someone for a lifetime.
My dear, you left me, you left me, you left me.
I suppose like the pale-faced moon leaves the tide; you did not owe me anything.
It feels like I had years to prepare myself for this.
Back then you would always talk about the world as if it was yours,
and I would always try to be ready for when it would be.
And yet, here I am, in the same place you left me,
in the same dress,
waiting for you to realize I would never leave,
even if you did.
The night you told me you would leave, the ocean roared and churned,
almost trying to stop your boat and the inevitable end of us.
I knew nothing I could say would make you stay so I let you leave,
pressed my fingertips to my lips and pressed them to the warmth of your skin,
the warmth I had been missing my entire life.
It was my promise to return but not stay.
The sun rests its head on the town I grew to love and yet
you did not return to the one that loved you.
Or was. It might not be there anymore.
It was a place I visited a lot in my youth when I needed to escape,
feel close enough to the town I would never reach.
I found it by accident and yet it did not feel like one,
it was open and furnished and it was a home to someone before me.
I stood by the windowsill and reached out towards the sun before it could hide,
trying to grab the sun by its rays so I could take a piece of it with me,
I didn't realize I had been yearning for that type of warmth my entire life.
The ocean rippled as your boat approached the edge of the house, the window, where I was.
Your skin was honeyed and your eyes light and I understood what it meant to
feel like you have known someone for a lifetime.
My dear, you left me, you left me, you left me.
I suppose like the pale-faced moon leaves the tide; you did not owe me anything.
It feels like I had years to prepare myself for this.
Back then you would always talk about the world as if it was yours,
and I would always try to be ready for when it would be.
And yet, here I am, in the same place you left me,
in the same dress,
waiting for you to realize I would never leave,
even if you did.
The night you told me you would leave, the ocean roared and churned,
almost trying to stop your boat and the inevitable end of us.
I knew nothing I could say would make you stay so I let you leave,
pressed my fingertips to my lips and pressed them to the warmth of your skin,
the warmth I had been missing my entire life.
It was my promise to return but not stay.
The sun rests its head on the town I grew to love and yet
you did not return to the one that loved you.
Writer's Statement: These poems are about coping with loss.