After sailing on stormy seas with twenty foot swells,
rising and falling into great oceanic troughs,
bobbing like a corked bottle pushed by strong waves,
our family expedition on the sleek black sailing ship
finally makes harbor.
On land, the storm continues to swirl and I am unable to stop falling –
running after my sister, I slip on the rain splattered,
mottled grey concrete floor of the Balboa Yacht Club,
feet flying, falling flat on my face, chipping my two
brand new front teeth.
Days later, sitting down to cry on the low cement
sea wall that keeps the water at bay, I suddenly slip
backwards, falling twenty feet to the rocky tidal
beach below, landing in the lone sand patch,
a shard of glass in my knee.
As a seaman who sees me slip, carries me up
the pockmarked limestone steps, the shock of landing
seeps into the cells of my small six year old body
and something deep in my mind snaps into place –
I am left to find solid ground on my own.