Leaving the Ocean

Wow, it's hard to leave the beach. I feel like I'm still in shock. We hadn't been there for three years because of the BP oil spill. Here's a poem I wrote after that last visit . . .

~ Leaving the Ocean

There is no easy way

to leave the ocean.

The perfect moment will not arise.

You just have to go

when you have to go.

The sea may expel you from itself . . .

rays will do for some, jellyfish for others,

one stray shark is plenty for most.

There's the rogue thundercloud,

the solar over-exposure,

the occasional riptide that spoils it for everyone.

But on a good day--a good day--

with water so clear you can see

straight down to the nude-colored fish

that rub at your ankles like hungry kittens . . .

On a day with waves so smooth

you can lie back and float,

giving the water all the weight

you've grown weary of carrying . . .

On one of those days

when you've sacrificed much

to be there

and home does not yet sound

like its own sort of relief . . .

Then there is no easy way

to leave the ocean,

knowing the car is packed

with everything but your swimsuit

and you.

You just have to head for shore

after a swell has lifted you off your feet

and set you back down,

though the rhythm would suggest

that you not disrupt the scene,

that when the planet is willing to absorb you,

you let it.