Lying on the beach towel,

sand caked to skin, eyes closed, sun warm.

Among crowded umbrellas

sounds filter in up close and loud,

or muffled incoherent static.

He is looking forward to retiring next year.

She cackles how she poured seltzer

over herself to get out the stain.

The woman with her laughs too.

Further away, desperation seeps out of a voice,

“I don’t know what I did?”

If she is asking a friend with her

on the bedsheet held down with rocks and paperbacks,

or the ex- lover on the phone,

or the fairy godmother,

it doesn’t matter, her question has evaporated.

The sounds meld and become a sleepy unconsciousness,

then they lap back in.

Children squeal at seaweed,

while older kids debate how high to build the sandcastle.

All the time

the ocean waves drum their rhythm.

The earth’s heartbeat.

Stories told over again.