*** Random Poetry Anyone? ***
Sunday
 
El sonido de las olas

I dive under the water,
As clear as any lens of
glass and lukewarm like forgotten
tea in the afternoon. The salt
stings my eyes so I close them,
feeling without seeing the
shimmering sand sift between
my fingers. I can hear
the ocean’s voice, suspended
in this moment of underneath,
filling my ears with melodies
as much as water;
¿Vas a tratar?

I come up for air blinking
and gasping, then tense
my muscles to dive again
as the next wave crests
followed by another and another,
again I shoot to the surface rubbing
my eyes and pushing my hair
backwards, bracing as each
wave hits and my toes
slip in the soft sand
and I stagger backwards,
out of breath and defeated,
unable to force my way out
and ride, my back to the sky,
over the never-motionless waves.

I turn my back to the spray, harsh
and uncompromising; the waves
have won today. I stumble
as they pummel unceasingly
first my back and then my thighs,
and now my calves, perhaps
no longer a constant deluge but
just a light slap to say
I told you so—
Te dije, ¿no?

* * *

I should have known, should have
listened. I heard them on the radio
as I drove along the sun-bleached gulf,
past the rocking trees whose palms
were forced to kow-tow to the relentless
pre-hurricane winds. But I was fooled
by the bright sun and the warm air
that enticed me to jump in my car
and head straightaway to the beach.
I heard the angry ocean even before
I could see her tossing and roaring
like a hungry two-year old.
But my hunger also drove me,
overconfident in my own skill.

I had seldom seen a wave
too great, or felt an undertow
too strong to keep me away.
This was not going to be the day that I did.

I parked across the road, on
the other side of the row of
palm trees, still whipping about
like so many weak stalks of grass.
But the sky was bright without any clouds,
and the golden azure sparkle
thrilled me as I watched it rise high
in the air and fall crashing, white caps
forming from miles and miles away.

* * *

I stand wrapped in my towel, blanketed
from the flying sand and staring
once again at the raging waves.
My ears are filled with salt
and sand but I can still hear
the roar.

I will come back tomorrow.
Maybe I am a fool. But I thirst
for the best wave, for the longest
ride on an unending curl,
belly down to the earth
yet above it, floating and flying
along an inward-collapsing tunnel
of agua and bliss. And these
ominous winds and this
erratic ocean cannot drench
my thirst, nor can any amount
of salt water, inhaled as I am
rocked and flipped head first
into the soft bottom that instantly
becomes a Brillo pad, scouring
my arms and my face.

I cannot be hushed
by the screaming wind
that knocks me aside
and fills my mouth
with grit. Tomorrow
my shouts of triumph
will be louder than
the sound of the waves.
Es una posibilidad,
pero veremos mañana.


      ( 11/14/2004 01:00:00 PM ) Lisa#



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Poetry is cool. So are short stories. Care to join in on the rantings? Email me at lmalo7fc@mwc.edu

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