Beckian Fritz Goldberg

Sharks, you think, looking out to the distance where they float in their school, those boys in their wetsuits sitting on their boards waiting. The boards drift in place like petals until the boys rise up black, holding the center and ride into the curl before the white crest wilts and falls. Meanwhile the lull is great. The cloud cover thickens. Later in the beach parking lot they peel back into their white and brown bodies, beautiful and sequential as time-lapse lilies, and that one, freckled, shakes out his hair while they talk among themselves in their easy, disposable language. And that one, waist deep in his shadow, goosebumped as the breeze blows a kiss to each nipple. I watch them carefully now—flowers, not fish, now that they're close enough to know I'm watching. And I know how it looks. The long boards leaning like shields against the dull blue truck and the towels like hours draped around their necks. Waiting is everything. Just you wait and see.


You can read more poetry by Beckian Fritz Goldberg in the premiere issue of Swink.

Beckian Fritz Goldberg is the author of several volumes of poetry, most recently Never Be the Horse (University of Akron Press, 1999). Her work has appeared in journals including The American Poetry Review, Field, The Gettysburg Review, Indiana Review, The Iowa Review and The Massachusetts Review. She has been awarded the Theodore Roethke Poetry Prize, The Gettysburg Review Annual Poetry Award, The University of Akron Press Poetry Prize, and a Pushcart Prize.


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