Valencia in the ’90s, nowhere
were the oranges, except one slight
sight from the train’s blur. I burnt
my nipples right off the bat. No way
you could be as pretty as the girls
in Valencia, topless and tanned
all over. Pale blue hostel sheets
were barely bearable. All night
I thought I’d die when the moon
came in and I’d wake to the pinching
skin. But I didn’t die. I went right
back the next day, but in a T-shirt
and didn’t try to be pretty, just
swam like something ordinary,
something worthy of the sea.
--Ada Limon
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