I am calmed by rhythmic
lapping of waves, and the familiar scent
of sunscreen. Fishing poles and nets
cover the splintered dock, like debris
after violent summer storms.
“Don’t trip,” she says; my feet
have already found a way to become
entangled in a net. I wiggle them like little fish
and set them free.
The sun gleams off water so clear,
it could be glass. I decide to jump in,
shattering the silence. I am sinking.
Being embraced inside a fish’s
home, where it is quiet and dark.
Strong arms are around me, pulling me
back to the surface:
a place where fish can’t live,
and motorboats grumble at the world
as though they are displeased with it.