Sunday Morning Moon Beach Okinawa

Sunday Morning
Moon Beach, Okinawa
1965

By Fred Shira


Waves rhythm lap
Against ancient Chinese placed rocks.
Gulls float static overhead.
The sea smell drifts in and out
cleansing the olfactory memory of
dead bodies in
black bags lined up and firewood stacked
on the sun heated tarmac
where wounds rot and stomachs swell
and death smells leak through zippered teeth.

But here strewn along the cool beach sand
like a Dali painting lay
the remnants of last night’s Saki revelry
sleeping youth taut bodies
airman, soldiers, sailors
all too young to be asked
what they are being asked to do.
But then what is the right age
to die?

This morning
with my knife and a pineapple
bought for just a quarter
I sit on the antique seawall
alone
drawing in the fresh sea air
the gulls float overhead
the waves rhythm lap

I have breakfast with God.