When I was 9, longing to reach my adored abuelo,
I tried to swim back to the island from Palma Sola Beach.
I got sucked by the riptide.
There was no lifeguard on duty.
With all my strength,
I swam to reach the surface.
My legs cramped.
As the asthma attack evolved,
the pull of the undertow dragged me to the depths.
I watched the last bubble of air float toward the sun.
Hours later, I woke eyes sculpted on sand
and coughed streams of salt.
Hair entangled with Caribbean seagrasses,
My scratched tongue wetted the cracks on my lips.
I rose from driftwood,
diatoms and beach wrack.
Wearing the cloak of a starlit night,
I walked home sobbing.
“Where have you been all day, muchachita?”
Mami screamed.
“Fishing.”
Published Source:
Masque, Mariel. “Genesis, Birth of a Poet, and Self Portrait,” 50 Over FiftyPoetryAnthology, edited by Ann Davenport, Quills Edge Press, 2018.