They decided on white water rafting through rushing
tides. I was stuck, gripping paddles and the edges
of the rubber plastic raft itself,
trying not to fly across the surface of water.
We dipped and turned and twirled
with the waves next to
banks of dirt and rocks that scatter across the ground of the river.
We got to a little cliff, rocky and towering
and as I climbed up, rocks crunching beneath my feet,
little patches of dry dirt mixed with mud to press a print upon my ankles.
When I got to the top I was cemented to the hardened clay with a force
not completely fear, not completely adrenaline.
I took one step forward, and without counting off,
leapt with a scream muted in my throat,
a word caught in mid air.
I sailed waiting to hit the water
and swore I could feel every part of myself.
I could feel a thread connecting my toes, to my fingers, to my head
and the pulsing of my temple seemed to mix with the pushing of the waves.
Until I was plunging into cold waters,
kicking my legs in silence,
if only for a couple of seconds,
before I resurfaced with my life jacket at my ears
and my hair matted to my forehead.
Amidst the cheers of my friends.