Where are you? the seven-year-old in me

asks as I watch the screen fill

with frenetic red and orange,

billowing gray, curtained black.

Storm, come and still the winds.

Jean Gray, divert the water.

Professor X, calm distressed minds.

With heat that chimneys the sky,

who needs the Sentinels or Juggernaut,

Mystique or Magneto?

Helmeted in yellow, masked

with oxygen, uniformed from shield

of helmet to toe of boot,

they team up from different states and countries—

the heroes I see battling

fire. O Charles, was none of it real?

Read and forgive my thoughts.

What mind can change the direction of flames?

Rehoboth Beach, Delaware

Sometimes the water knows best.

Sometimes I miss the sand.

Since ’92, much has changed.

Since ’92, I have changed.

I want to visit the beach.

But also Dogfish Head. And Rigby’s Bar.

And Blue Moon. And Purple Parrot.

I’ll make sure my parasol

is bright and colorful. Past runaway rainbow

beach balls, past young boys

molding sandy boobs to their buried friend,

I’ll walk and chuckle.

And hear my mother warn,

Be careful, Jonathan.

Kickboard in hand, I’ll answer,

Too late, and wade into blue,

launch into sudsy white.

And feel the truth firm as waves.

And bless the salt and foam.