The Storm Surge, 1981–1992
—after the Jetty Lifeguard Tower at dusk
The means to rebuild & rebrand after flood,
pandemic, all manner of storms—
is not a given.
Generations of oak groves cloaked in Spanish Moss
flanking houses of heaving bookshelves,
creased photo albums,
stitched family
… can all be erased.
The power to plant—
redecorate over
blood-
stained stalks in the sand
—to reclaim & reset the coastline
with sunburst homes of deco
is said to guard lives.
Redevelopers trace
the movement of artists—
history’s insufferable
white blood cells
archivists of harm—
mapping which murals to rebrand
which walls to erase,
capitalizing on the ghosts of
Cafecito-fueled White Parties,
embalming its own Freestyle—
corner store drum & bass.
Copyright © 2026 by Kimberly Reyes. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on July 29, 2026, by the Academy of American Poets.
“Growing up in the 1980s, my understanding of sex and society was forever shaped by the AIDS pandemic and the loss of so many artists and cultural visionaries. Having spent most of my adult life in New York City, San Francisco, and now Miami, I couldn’t ignore who made Miami Beach culturally electric. To me, Miami meant Exposé, Gloria Estefan, Madonna vs. Junior Vasquez, Félix González-Torres, Art Deco art studios, and no curfews. Yet when I arrived, Miami Beach was blacking out the iconic rainbow crosswalk on Ocean Drive while newer arrivals redefined ‘all-white parties.’ I’ve seen this film before. This poem is one attempt to keep recording.”
—Kimberly Reyes