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maria-alfaroPoems
When I was young I stood Cautiously at the edge Clutching my mother's hand, squealing As the waves lapped at my ankles And pulled away When I tried to touch them. As I aged, I grew brave Wading into the waves, knee-deep Chasing them up the shore, kicking Because they posed no threat Existing simply For my entertainment. Then adolescence; No longer was the water Warm and pleasant to touch, instead It swirled coldly about my waist Tugging me one way Then changing its mind. Deeper I was submerged Until my eyes were masked. I could not reckon with direction, but rather The struggle with the hands Clutching me tight And pulling me under To join the drowned.
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Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 1:04 PM UTC
Water
When I was young I stood Cautiously at the edge Clutching my mother's hand, squealing As the waves lapped at my ankles And pulled away When I tried to touch them. As I aged, I grew brave Wading into the waves, knee-deep Chasing them up the shore, kicking Because they posed no threat Existing simply For my entertainment. Then adolescence; No longer was the water Warm and pleasant to touch, instead It swirled coldly about my waist Tugging me one way Then changing its mind. Deeper I was submerged Until my eyes were masked. I could not reckon with direction, but rather The struggle with the hands Clutching me tight And pulling me under To join the drowned.
Oct 2013
Written by
maria-alfaro
Feb 19, 2014
Feb 19, 2014 at 1:04 PM UTC
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