It's July. Our weather here on Maine's Midcoast has been mild this year, but four days ago, I finally took out my fan. It's 82 degrees out as I write this, and I find myself thinking of the ocean. Perhaps tonight I'll go for a swim.
Have you ever gone swimming in the ocean at night? A few years ago, I issued an invitation to myself to do just that. The invitation became this poem, which was published in Off the Coast in the summer of 2020.
The tide is out.
The sea is not more
the waves toss silica and calcium,
adorning your shocked flesh
Once you breathed your mother’s brackish waters.
Once you crossed a tidal river in your father’s arms.
Unfold your limbs and let
this dark hour bear you
until the churning heavens
resurrect the light.