The bellyboard

...a poem about fear.

Photo by Denis Zagorodniuc

I don’t know which way is up or down or sea or shore.
I am being tumbled by waves, trampled by white horses,
my white knuckles stubbornly gripping the edges
of the varnished, borrowed bellyboard.

I know it is pulling me under,
but I am more scared of my stepmum than the sea.

‘Do. Not. Lose. It.’

I don’t know which way to kic…