In Santa Cruz, on the full moon, the waves beat strong. We waded into the ocean, just enough to feel the push and pull. The first wave hit, just up to my waist. It left heaps of sea spaghetti piled up around my ankles. When the wave pulled back, the sea spaghetti pulled me down. My heart jumped. Then I took a breath and untangled myself. The second wave hit, and this time, I prepared. I tried to stand in the clearer patches of water, where I assumed less kelp lay under. The wave only reached my knees. Now it was too safe. I crouched to make it feel deeper. I saw a dad and son, far out in the water, standing prepared to meet the waves. At their point, the waves would go over their heads. Curious, I went deeper, about halfway to their point. When the wave hit, I went under. It was a thrill, till I felt the sand and rocks scrape my butt. The wave had pushed me onto the shore. Next time, I’ll get up in time, I thought. But next time showed me, that wasn’t easy. I looked at the dad and son again - far out in the water. How did they do it?
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About MeMy name is Samirah Shri. I write poetry especially for "bad" Asian daughters, but also for anyone who feels rejected within their communities. My poems guide you along my personal journey of rejection, healing, and ultimately re-connection. |