My swim-gone-wrong.
My naiveté, my foolishness.
She falls, falls, falls to the ground,
nestling into the sand like a seashell.
She peers up at me,
eyes hard, expression hostile.
She wants me to go.
Instead, I sink down to sit beside her.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” she rasps.
“You could have drowned!”
Shecould have drowned,
and I would have been responsible.
She wrings the ocean from her long ponytail,
then pulls her shirt, drenched and transparent,
from where it clings.
I am tired and I am troubled,
but I am mesmerized by her movements—
I am mesmerized byher.
She glares, flagrant, and I shrink into myself.
I avert my gaze; my face sizzles with shame.
A dog bounds over—her dog.
It is discordantly cheerful,
covered in wet, wheat-colored curls.
It licks salty water from her face.
She gives its head an amiable pat,
while scowling at me.
Finally, she snaps, “You’re welcome.”
As if I have thanked her.
I should. I should saysomething.
Instead, I shiver against harsh wind,
