Electric Ocean, We Dive Deep


into azure blue stillness,

we sit in these postures,

folded legs, eyes closed, shoulders dropped

sage cupped in hands.

Tiny miracle waves

touch shorelines

with a swoosh of pebbles laughing.

The slap of a crash of a lit sky,

waves hit

electrical currents,

minds go off


another slap of a wave

carries us crashing;

electricity sprinting through finger tips

like stinging ants from ankles shook,

licks of water flung

A gush of a wave slapping,

who gets to ride this one?

This mother fucking wave

taking some of us under

spitting some of us out.

Who will drown?

Who swims to shore?

Who sits on the rocks up above?

Who cries for help?

Who is rescued?

And who gets to drop into this

indigo blue stillness?

How long can we stay


the next electrical slap of a wave?

We sit. We breath. We can.

We get out of the way,

but not so out of the way

we can’t see the next one coming.

Electric slap.

Ruptured calm.

And we are gone again,

crashing into one another with our

fears and losses,

our unimaginable grievances.

We tread water.

We throw life lines.

We crawl back to our seats,

our altars.

We sit.

We drop down to the bottom of the sea

and we get out of the way

but never too out of the way

that we can’t see how different the storm

is for others;

not too out of the way that we can’t see

our shared humanity worth getting out of the way for;

until it is our turn to jump, swim, dive, throw lifelines;

recognize privilege,

sing for equality,

dance for distribution,

write poems of revolution;

so all of us can dive below the sea and find

solitude in the depth of HER water loving arms.

by Maureen St.Clair

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