I ride a wave of want
I ride a wave of want,
surf an ocean of yearning, board gripped, knuckles capped white, belly pressed to the slick surface. I do not trust my feet. I am not afraid of falling. Falling is only empty space. I am afraid to land. I hunker low, call it safe. I wish sometimes I were a lake.
The Prompt
I am a person with lots of big desires. I spent years of my life pretending this wasn’t the case—trying to fit in, trying to make the people around me happy. Mostly, I’m up on my feet now, risking (and often taking) falls. Mostly, I love this. But occasionally, I think it might be nice to have a dimmer switch—to be a little less ocean and a little more lake.
Would I wave that magic wand if I actually had it? No. Usually, all I need is a good night of sleep, and then I’m ready to welcome the waves again. (Would I wave that magic wand when I’m in a long stretch of insomnia? Hell yes I would.)
If you’d like a prompt to play with today, I offer you waves! I wish I could do this literally—could lift you up and plant you on a beautiful beach somewhere. Maybe you live in a place where you can do that for yourself. If so, consider sitting by the ocean or bay or a gently lapping lake as you write your poem. If not, here are a few other ways you might experience waves . . .
Watch a Youtube video of ocean waves or of big wave surfers. Look back at your own photos of time you’ve spent by water. Turn on an audio track of waves. Get in the bath, and splash—noticing what happens as the water kicks back toward you from the sides of the tub.
Or take some time to explore non-watery waves. Soundwaves, for example. Or light waves. Read about them on Wikipedia. Sit for a minute in the reality that every moment of you waking life is impacted by them.
Make your own list of other kinds of waves or other ways the word wave is used. Heat waves. Shock waves. A wave of nausea. The waves that move around a stadium. Waves of emotion. Waves goodbye. Waves hello!
In the swirl of all of these waves, find the poem that is yours to write. I am so excited to get to swim in your brilliance, kindness, and creativity within the comments section. Thank you for being here!
We rocked together then,
you small and sessile,
me curled around you
amid the swells,
our bodies not separable
by any surf.
.
It was a tender epoch
that kept me up at night,
but not from worry.
You were safe because
I swam for two.
.
This new tide
estranges,
salts my eyes.
It bothers me that I can’t
see your hands.
.
It is not grasping I want,
that dinghy is gone.
It is the slow churn,
measured and deep,
that tells me you are
staying above,
that tells me I can
rest.
I, too, sometimes wish for a little more lake and a little less ocean 💛.
.
Waves
.
I happen to be staring at the waves right now
the rush of them fast and white and uneven
the wind blowing them to the side as they crash
and splash and maybe even mash someone
struggling to stand up under them, all those good “shhh”
sounds pushing into my ears. I don’t usually feel the hunger
to walk in or swim in or get lifted off my feet by the waves
but I always want to walk beside them
separated by a little sand, a line of sand dollars
washed in by the waves.