Sandra

16

TOES KICK DAY TO NIGHT.

bare toes curled in white sand, the
smiling, shining sun hugging your bare
back, visions of sunscreen and
salt and smiles full of mirth, the
sounds of children shrieking and
teens competing and adults relaxing

(socked toes curled in soft fabric, the
purring, napping lightofyourlife clawing into your
lap, visions of buttered popcorn and
salted crisps and pursed lips of surprise, the
sounds of thunder cracking and
couples bantering and music harmonizing);

calming kicks as you hold your breath,
pulsing, arms out, fins apart,
a torpedo in the space beside you and you
push upward, propelling till you hit where
water ends and land-air meet, where you
shake your hair out and spit the water from your lips

(painful kicks as you exhale your breath,
pulsing, calfs strained, legs apart,
a flash in the horizon behind you and you
push forward, propelling till you hit where
water ends and shelter begins, where you
shake your hair out and spit the water from your lips);

lengthy days under the sun with a
word in your mind and a
love on your tongue;
late nights under the stars with a
six-pack of alcohol and
upbeat rhythms

(too-long days under a roof with a
love in your mind and a
word on your tongue;
bright nights under a television screen with a
six hundred-pack of show listings and
distressed violin choirs);

the things played up, normalities hammered
into the minds of onbreakoffschool
young adults

(the things never spoken of, comforts floating
amongst the thoughts of onbreakoffschool
old children).