Birthed in the waters of the Atlantic,
like my mother and grandmother
before me; a girl child, wet braids,
skirted bathing suit,
ankle deep in foaming surf,
discovering the pull
of the undertow before
taking that first dive.
Where did you discover freedom?

Observe me glide deeper
into the ocean,
treading waters,
waiting for the crest
of a perfect wave,
the rush to rise up,
plunge deep, ride to shore,
arms outstretched,
self emerging triumphant,
baptized again with the spirit of joy.
Where did you learn to read
the waves that wash over your life?

Now imagine teen youth,
stepping from familiar tidal
waters, a cooling breeze
brushing my body.
I chill when I recall
machines shoveling landmass
into an end-of-beach channel,
plans to connect two islands.
Dunes and sea oats vanished,
no more games of hide and seek,
no sea creatures playing
around my feet at low tide;
parcels of my paradise
marked “no trespassing”.
Where did you first discover
a line drawn in the sand?