The Ocean

By: Angela Thompson

the ocean
doesn’t ask me to explain myself

doesn’t ask
where i’ve been
who i’ve been
why i carry what i carry

it just—
opens

salt in the air
sharp, honest
sunscreen melting into skin
warmth meeting water
driftwood somewhere nearby
holding stories i don’t need to know

i step in slowly
like i might interrupt something sacred

but the water
keeps coming

touching
pulling
wrapping around my ankles
my knees
my waist

until i am inside of it
and it is inside of me

and for a moment—

i am not performing
not holding
not becoming

just
being

the waves don’t keep score
they don’t remember yesterday’s version of me
they don’t ask for a better one tomorrow

they rise
they fall
they return

again
again
again

and i learn

i can, too

out here
i am small
but not insignificant

i am part of something
vast
unbroken
alive

and that

feels like home