| *** Random Poetry Anyone? *** | |||
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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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