Catching sunrise at Bogmalo

Papa plans a tradition, a New Year picnic
at Bogmalo. Spreading nostalgia thin
with home-made theplas and thermos
of chai on the beach. The sunrise,
pink on the waves, angry with the night.

He makes us scout for a contour of sand,
a map he can recognise as his home.

Boys in wet ‘I Love Goa’ T-shirts
dance on waves with stereo sounds.
Beer pints clinked without affection.
A heron takes off where the river
gives itself to the sea, a muddied creek.
In its wake, a ripple of wrappers.