There are things that seem small now
elementary school bathrooms,
the hill behind my mother’s house,
the beluga whale pool at the aquarium.
But what has never changed
is the sea.
I feel the same way I did as a kid,
captivated by the slithering and lurching,
so much mystery under that dark sheet.
Every rope of kelp is an octopus arm,
and every rock
is a great white shark,
that strange mouth
half smile
blank eyes
wanting me.
Perhaps that’s why we obsess over the shark,
since the rest of the ocean’s creatures
roam oblivious to us
in the vastness of their world.
I let my legs dangle,
I am giddy with fear.
Great white sharks don’t even come this far north
but it doesn’t matter,
I can almost feel the fin
slicing fast
soundless
restoring my sense of importance
as the object
of so much desire.