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Death Wades
Our lives were of this moment…
the wave made sure of that
Winter nineteen sixty-nine
Waimea’s fury spat
Thirty feet and building
the giants all had come
Their lips four stories high above
too late to cut and run
The paddle out a nightmare
the ride a waiting terror
The drop in looming zero-sum
the wall the devils mirror
We made it down and set our fins
to climb the face again
Our ears were deaf, eyes frozen wide
once more to climb the mountain
On top we leaned and split the crest
last turn to surf the violence
The beach in sight, through foams delight
—death wading through the silence
(Villanova Pennsylvania: January, 2019)
‘Memories Of Waimea’
Copyright ©
Kurt Philip Behm
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