Barefooted

​It is good
To have gone to the beach
When you were small
And, standing barefooted
At the edge of the sea,
Closed your eyes
Going all off kilter when foaming swirls
Washed away the earth beneath your feet - 
So that some day
When the rug is pulled out
You’ll remember,
In a whisper or a rush,
That you survived this once before,
And you will,
By God,
Do it again.

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This poem and alcohol ink art were done in response to a piece from Callie Fayen over at Tweetspeak Poetry: Writing Prompt: Beach Metaphors.