I am six years old,
the wetsuit dragging dry against my sensitive skin
push my chest on the board. it’s chafing under my armpits
where the chilled breeze of seven in the morning
blows calm into the tremble of my fingertips
Daddy’s strong arms propel me.
tip-top of the wave, and
down,
down,
down,
salty tang of the water on my tongue
stinging my eyes, dyeing them pink.
grains of sand between my teeth at the shore
crunch them in victory–
still with me no matter how hard I scrub in the shower.
I am ten years old,
digging up sandcrabs
feel the skitter of their delicate legs,
goosebumps on my small hands
the holes they press into the shore a private delight.
sudden shock of the water
once we’re outside the breakers
legs dangling freely with nothing to catch them
gentle give of the ocean floor
a long lost lover.
“polar bear!”
and my father is letting go of the board,
sinking down below glass surface
breathe in, lungs expand,
and I’m letting go too.
I am thirteen on a surfboard,
a gift from Uncle Cam
arms aching from the weight of the paddle out
surrounded by familiar faces,
I am one of three children
hibiscus flowers sway as they
dangle from our necks,
sun dipping calm below the horizon
speckling the world in its hazy golden glow
yell threatens to escape from my chest
goodnight, Grandpa.
I am fifteen, running to catch a frisbee
I am twelve stuck at home, missing the sun
I am nothing–
a fantasy, a dream as my parents build a house
the sand between their toes as they say I do
I am the paintings on the wall of Grandma’s sewing room
I am the tres palms silhouetted on the shore
I am here,
I am home
del mar beach
