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Katy’s Cove

I slip into the shallows

minnows flicker through my fingers like smoke

The line where the water meets my skin is a cool blade

—thigh, hips, waist—

the cilia hairs on my forearms laced with the pale gold afternoon sun,

here I am solid

there I am liquid

unsubstantiated by the muscle memory of what it is

to swim.

I hover, wavering

between woman and amphibian

then (prior to deciding to)

I dive

piercing the membrane of the surface

gasp

all is rhythm and sensation and the

silent sound of submersion

emerald crabs scuttle across the floor,

kicking up small tornadoes of sand

translucent jellyfish tremble, pulse, their fronds

fluttering shyly like eyelashes; waving, beckoning

I surface again

Watch the baby I call out to my husband

Mum where are you going? I hear Felix say

but I can’t turn around to look until

I’ve freestyled to the other side of the cove

where no one is.

I want to take off all my clothes and feel the sand and salt against my body

but instead I find a pine tree and dangle like a child.

Sated, I sit on the shore, full of the waning day,

fraying slightly at the edges

The kids wave to their mother from the dock,

summoning her back

to earth.