Wetsuit

The water.
Dark before me, cold - that crushing, heartstopping chill -
The ice-laced memory of youth, ebb and flow there, in North Sea waves.
A rebellion now: this body, its’ years of life - of life-giving and life-living - marked across the skin;
stretched scars of joy, of tears, of memories - the sag of days passing; wrinkles etching recollection.
Yes, a rebellion then, to pull on this neoprene suit
its’ inky thickness wrapping this aging self of mine, warming these bones which now feel the ache of years in their joints,
folding into myself: zipping in yesterday, last week, the decades.
I stand in sand - smooth.
I brush slategrey hair from my eyes, breathing,
stilling and steeling my heart and then,
suddenly submerged, subsumed,
shrieking as I rise again -
a teenager raging against it all, swimming beyond my depth, against the current.


personal rebellion, identity