CALL ME BELOVED

Rogue waves won me over.
Once those waves of shame spit
you out, drenched and gasping,
you’re left with something new –
maybe a gleaming treasure, some
pocket-worthy trinket, worrystone
rubbed smooth by pressure, time –
I’ve learned to love slow undertow,
salt burning tears down my cheek,
I’ve grown these sea legs. I watch
the ambling of tides, dutifully tie
all my ropes, savor the tedium of
treading water. I’ve made myself
a home on this sea. Day breaks
and I hide from the sun, at night
I scream my terrors into the dark –
The water laps quiet on the shore
and it never answers.