Mamá Clemen would rub sunscreen onto my arms every day before swim practice at Boy’s Club. Coconut smell permeated the air. She’d walk me down the street, around the corner to the pool.
Her hands and my mother’s hands made sure to not get any sunscreen
in my eyes as they carefully, fingertips like paintbrushes, moved across my face.
This act of touch I do to my girlfriend before we go to the beach. Forgoing