When I was a child,
my mother used to say,
to not go too far out the ocean,
or I'll never be brought back to bay.
And I laughed at her silly advice,
and leaped into the waves,
feeling them beckon me into their arms.
With every step I took,
my body slowly disappeared.
And each time I glanced back
my mother became more and more of a little speck
My toes squish into the sand,
and my heels are planted firmly into the invisible ground.
I'm soon neck and neck with the water,
and letting my arms lie nimbly, I sway with the rhythmic tides.
I admire a wave thrashing forth,
picking up the small waves alongside it,
as if eager to get to shore.
I smile and look back
to see my mother waving her arms.
Laughing, I look back to face the monstrous wave
prepared to eat me.
I dive in just as I'm engulfed in water.
My legs are spiraling everywhere,
and all I feel is the thrashing of each wave
tossing and pulling at me.
I gasp for some air
only to find the salty water cling to my lungs.
I grasp something, anything.
As my body is finally flung onto the hard gritty sand,
the angry wave suddenly withers into foam,
and other little coils recollect themselves and retreat back to the careless, endless ocean.