The Memory of Family Lobster
The sand beneath your fingernails.
The crunch in your teeth.
No sé si aún me recuerdas.
They call orchard beach
chocha beach because it smells
of sex and pot and unflattering bikinis.
But one day I tethered my desires to the
Ocean. Anchored dreams to va y ven de
Eating ceviche en Tecomán,
Listening to the laughter of the waves,
Getting stung by jellyfish at rockaway—
My brother and I ran
away on beaches
ocultándonos en el espuma
and he would foam anger.
But it was her fault.
One summer in the depths of the gulf
my father fished me out of the ocean
by my ears. It hurt when he yelled.
Like this orchard
Could grow not oranges
Like being there meant mountains.
Melissa Castillo-Garsow is currently pursuing a Master's in Creative Writing at Fordham University. Her fiction appears in A Daughter's Story and Shaking Like a Mountain.