When I first met the ocean, I was scared of what it could do to me.
I placed my toes in the waves and smiled when they whispered
we will never hurt you.
We played that way for a while,
I, testing the ocean,
the ocean, testing me.
Soon I was brave and waded up to my knees.
You're cold, I told the ocean and shivered.
No matter, the ocean replied. Come deeper, child.
I was frightened by the way it urged me on
but I clumsily stumbled ahead, courting the freezing waters
and enjoying the chills I got when the seaweed tickled my calves.
Deeper I waded. The water was black and I
sucked in my breath when it lapsed against my stomach.
Do not be afraid, the ocean said, undertones
of anger fluttering through its powerful
Deeper and deeper I waded until the water
was a collar around my throat. I could see the shore
in the distance but the ocean
made my movements weak and sluggish. I was no fish;
I was a mere, stupid girl who was now in
over her head.
Just as my nose and mouth submerged,
as the salt greedily met my eyes,
I remembered that I could not swim.
The ocean laughed as I drowned, as bubbles
leaked from my lips.
No one knew where I was, no one would find my body.
Would I wash up on some beach only to be
devoured by seagulls?
I grew still, petrified with fear,
and the ocean forgot me.
The waves pushed me onto the beach and I gasped like a trout out
of water, surprised that I was alive.
You bore me, the ocean grumbled and I was happy, so happy.
Good! I shouted. I'll never trust you again! You betrayed me! You lied!
The waves massaged my feet soothingly.
It was a mistake, child, they giggled. Forgive us.
I turned and ran up the beach. Was staying out of the water the only way
to keep from drowning?
I never did return to the ocean and, child,
if it speaks to you,
do not listen.
a/n: This is not about the ocean
but about someone who I thought I could trust.
I was wrong.