She comes back again after thirty years,
feeling as though she's returning
to the scene of a crime. Beach strewn
with oiled sunbathers, seductive waves,
air mattresses, mopeds, sun block,
scent of plumeria and Coppertone, hibiscus,
bright prints, rows of kitschy shops.
At evening, tourists line the streets
dressed to kill (she remembers discos,
a party boat, a boy with such soft lips).
Her reflection in a window, children
trailing behind. Where did she bury
the body, she'd like to know, meaning herself--
sunburnt, chapped--that naive girl.