The Gulf, 1987

The day upturned, flooded with sunlight, not a single cloud. I squint into the glare, cautious even then of bright emptiness. We sit under shade, Tía Lucia showing me how white folks dine,the high life. I am about to try my first oyster, Tía spending her winnings from the slots on a whole dozen, the glistening valves wet and private as a cheek’s other side, broken open before us.Don’t be shy. Take it all in at once. Flesh and sea grit, sweet meat and brine, a taste I must acquire. In every split shell, the coast’s silhouette: bodies floating in what was once their home.