Dear Sun,

Besides cancer

You give me happiness

When there are waves nearby

And sand that will stick to my legs.

I didn’t go to Brighton Beach

Because a girl was murdered there

Two weeks ago.

Rockaway was nice anyway

Full of tattoos

Surfboards

And jelly plankton.

On my journey back on the J

I looked at my toes.

They looked like

Italian breaded meat.

How not to feel joyous

And smile at fellow travelers

While listening to America.

When you’re rich,

Valentina,

You will buy a house on a beach

Trying to make up

For being old

And lonely.