Over the Under Waves

Is this what quicksand feels like?

Ocean waves dampen the sand

around my feet with each return, sinking

me towards the center of the Earth.

Are those screams? No, just laughter…

Gaze torn from my disappearing limbs,

to my cousins as they dive under

the waves like sea creatures in a film.

Water crashes into my legs again,

hitting my knees with the force to throw

me overboard, I do not waver from my perch.

The sand has held me to it with grainy hands,

molded me into a monument, chiseled,

then smoothed by sandpaper wind, an unlikely

sculptor my curiosity has become. Am I the only

artifact the sea foam has tricked into existence?

What an image that must be, do tourists

gawk and flock to view how curiosity tempts

the cat? Do they simply check it off, another

item on their bucket-list. Tide leaves, the intrusive

blight of what if demands I sit down, back

to the waves, just to see… Beach has me firm

as a pedestal to marble, like the fall from a

rollercoaster peak, heart swaps with my stomach,

while my feet are ripped free from the bind

the sand alluded to hold dear. Somersaulting

under the sea, no gravity can hold me, until

the archaeologists find the remains of a

sculpture held once more in the briny grip

of the beach. Wringing out the memories

of the last failed attempt to swim from my hair,

my father sits under an umbrella, not content

to smell of salt, hey! You tried going under,

good job!; I nod in acquiescence. Today was

not a day for killing the hopes of others.

Summoned to the waves, I watch sea

and sand move over my feet, with a sweet

caress, unbothered by the way they nearly

claimed me as their lifelong companion.

What would happen if I did it again?