Sandbox Vulva

has my vulva gone?
After a day at Kits Beach I peel
still-damp salt-musk bikini
bottoms from salt-scaled
ever-pale thighs
to find my vulva missing.
Not missing — buried
like a plaything
in the neighbour’s backyard sandbox.

I imagine a tiny plastic shovel
unearthing my clitoris, clearing
small mountains of sand
to reveal wavy
labial ridges.
With Island Girl fuchsia
nails I scrape away detritus,
feathered algae,
the mosaic of tiny shells. I tug
pubes and sand tumbles
to toilet bowl, tails
down the pipe
and begins its long journey
back to sea.

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