It was the sea,
salt and water,
the press of the tide
and the undertow;
the frightening mystery
of jellyfish; the shells,
whitewashed tombs
yet evidence of enduring
beauty

I remember once
we went out
in a rubber dinghy,
daring the waves to drown us,
and they did.
Beneath the boat,
I held my breath,
let the currents
fight one another
for me.

The church looked like
an upturned boat;
I could count the rowers’
benches stretching
toward the Host upheld
just out of reach

When the tide went out,
mudflats emerged,
full of seagulls,
silt sucking at ankles and thighs;
as often as I entered the ocean
to wash my feet
I found myself once again
stuck in the mud.

If I could have stayed
with the sea, salt
drying on my hair …