The Lyrical Beach
Published in

The Lyrical Beach

Moon. Womb. Sea.

Lyrical prose

A month into moving to Boracay Island where my husband Francis had been based for a year, I was tending to the baby one evening in our tiny rented house when he burst through the door.

“You must come to the beach with me. Right now!”

Power was out on this island of twelve beaches and coves. He’d just been to Din-Iwid Beach, the closest cove to our place.



The beach as material, metaphor, and memory.

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