Grace

The soft black mud sucks my legs down
the rope presses against my arm and chest

And its a fair wind
blowing warm out of the north on my shoulder

I'm not fully grown which is a disadvantage on the open sea
here in the marsh I afford
six meters from shore to shore
to sail my boat out of the marsh

Still, working fast, I make way
from shells that cut and alligators that bite
and reeds that catch and the turning tide
until the wind fills my sail tight
and I am free at last of the marshgrass

One day Grace and I
sailed up upon a shark as long as she
the huge dorsal cut close, churning sea
and blue windows of lightning shoot within me
I sail in, fast and hard and sit on safe ground shaking
the slow realization dawns
the damn shark was a vegetarian

Grace
responded to the rope and a firm hand
When you and I are clear of land
she whispers boy I am gonna to make you a man
She makes her simple feminine demand
We were not quite lovers
And more than friend