Paul Willason Poet Free verse

The Rip

A line of waves
begin their run to shore,
lifting, rising up and flaring
cobra like as if preparing 
to strike, gliding forward
until the shallows down them
and they fall, deflating
to a withering crawl 
up the incline of a beach,
beaten into tiny bubbles
that burst harmless at my feet.

I am safe here
beyond the lethal reach 
of waves and water where, 
just a short wade away,
a rip churns ready to drag 
an unsuspecting soul 
out to sea and far from sight, 
slow thrashing limbs and time
to a still and thicken 
living breath into brine.

The image troubles me
and sends my thoughts
a thousand miles
and a lifetime away
to when my uncle drowned
trying to rescue a child
swept out in a rip. He clings 
to memory, the young brother
of my Mum, though I was
only eight years old.
He was twenty one.

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Deb M October 1, 2024 at 3:29 AM Oh Paul what a sad sad tale! Rips are so dangerous and frightening…..your brave selfless uncle saving a childs life but losing his life doing it at only twenty one…..I felt the grip of the rip and the sadness in your words …..your mum must have been devastated! Debx Paul Willason October 4, 2024 at 3:13 AM Thankyou my dear friend for your thoughtful comments. It was a tragedy and had a deep impact on my mother who had virtually raised him as her mother died when he was a young child. Its good to let some air into such memories, gives them perspective and resolution. Indeed appreciate your kind words Deb.