<\/p>\n
Three
\nDabbling in the surf with an baby-sized insta-friend
\nA wave too small to boogie board
\nTumbles us.
\nSand in my eyes and nose.
\nSalt broth duking it out with oxygen
\nBattling for trachea space.
\nI can\u2019t find up or down.
\nInsta-friend gurgles and gasps.
\nDeath, as it applies to me, is a brand new thought.
\nI\u2019m only three.
\nBut here He looms, instantaneous, implacable, incredible.
\nMom\u2019s at home, Dad\u2019s surfing, I\u2019m still wave-tossed and
\nScared.
\nWho finds my body?
\nI see my spot in the van ride home
\n(perched on the engine cover between the front seats)
\nEmpty. But even without me chirping all the way home, Dad still won\u2019t have
\nTime to figure out how to tell Mom about my tiny, sodden, limp
\nCorpse.
\nI find up, manage a gasp, open my eyes.
\nI see Death reaching down for me, a silhouette of terror.
\nHe lifts me out of the water, one-handed.
\nIn the other paw, Insta-friend dangles by the scruff next to a
\nSurfboard Death clenches with his armpit.
\nDeath isn\u2019t death.
\nHe plops us on the sand, shifting the board and grinning.
\nHe walks away.
\nNo new rules, no warnings, no questions about our folks.
\nHe handed me back my life, and now
\nMy life is in my hands.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Eight
\nScrabbling the coastal boulders and tidepools
\nRacing across jumping tip to craggy dip
\nAcross chasms large enough to
\nSnap a femur or
\nLose a body
\nI fly where adults won\u2019t walk
\nTo child-sized worlds in
\nPocked rocks
\nEach with waves and light
\nDenizens feeding and sleeping
\nLiving and dying
\nOur differences are just a matter of
\nScale.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Twenty-eight
\nBody-surfing every week for years,
\nA nearby seal joins us each time.
\nShe may think we are retarded seals who
\nNeed looking after.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Thirty-five
\nDecades in this water on this beach
\nDecades on the mat
\nThe water is high
\nBut I know how,
\nWhen a wave is too big to ride, to
\nDive deep and lay flat on the sand
\nWaiting for the wave to pass over.
\nI know this challenge, I\u2019m practiced, I\u2019m good
\n(Better than many), I\u2019m safe.
\nI stroke up a rising wave, ready to
\nSlide in just past the crest and
\nFlip into the joyride.<\/p>\n
Cresting, I freeze and miss the wave.
\nThe next in the set
\nOne of those odd waves with a double amplitude is
\nClose
\nFast
\nHuge.<\/p>\n
I gulp air, diving down into the sand
\nSeawater tugs me deeper in that
\nRetrograde way waves wander
\nAnd though I\u2019m pressed like a flounder, this wave doesn\u2019t
\nWant to leave a safe zone, so she
\nSeizes my feet and curls herself into shore.
\nWith the weight of the water, I\u2019m pinned.
\nShe lifts my legs into her curl, squashes my chest.
\nMy back folds inexorably.
\nMy heels touch the back of my head.
\nI can feel the bones in my spine
\nOpening on the ventral side and
\nDorsally grinding, reaching fracture pressure.
\nThe wave passes.
\nI crawl to shore, grateful the punishment for
\nHubris was just a warning.<\/p>\n
The ocean gives everything.
\nThe ocean takes everything away.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
Three Dabbling in the surf with an baby-sized insta-friend A wave too small to boogie board Tumbles us. Sand in my eyes and nose. Salt broth duking it out with oxygen Battling for trachea space. I can\u2019t find up or down. Insta-friend gurgles and…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":967,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[7,441],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-33286","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-marathon-poem","category-poetry-prompt-responses"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/33286","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/967"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=33286"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/33286\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":33939,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/33286\/revisions\/33939"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=33286"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=33286"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/thepoetrymarathon.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=33286"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}