When I was 9, longing to reach my adored abuelo,
I tried to swim back to the island from Palma Sola Beach.

I got sucked by the riptide.
There was no lifeguard on duty.

With all my strength,
I swam to reach the surface.

My legs cramped.
As the asthma attack evolved,

the pull of the undertow dragged me to the depths.
I watched the last bubble of air float toward the sun.

Hours later, I woke eyes sculpted on sand
and coughed streams of salt.

Hair entangled with Caribbean seagrasses,
My scratched tongue wetted the cracks on my lips.

I rose from driftwood,
diatoms and beach wrack.

Wearing the cloak of a starlit night,
I walked home sobbing.

“Where have you been all day, muchachita?”
Mami screamed.

“Fishing.”

Published Source:

Masque, Mariel. “Genesis, Birth of a Poet, and Self Portrait,” 50 Over FiftyPoetryAnthology, edited by Ann Davenport, Quills Edge Press, 2018.