Muchacha en la Ventana
Ruth Foley
So little of what could happen, does happen.
-Salvador Dali
My future is bound by the spit of land
that cuts across the bay, bound by
the humble sailboat against the headland.
It's not far, but farther than I can go
for now, even if I can keep you
behind me. The water is flat. I think
it's warm enough, although the breeze
could cut me if I rose for breath.
And I'm not the strongest swimmer.
Sometimes I want a sail above me.
Sometimes I want a wooden deck.
It's not that I'm unhappy here, not
yet. I have not begun to melt like time.
I have not become a different reflection.
I have not known abandon, only the shore.
I am an egg, smooth and slowly
hardening, barely able to balance,
barely able to float on salted waves.