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Shark
Attacking water bliss
at the turn of time
before the end of
a bolt away. The
jagged grip, the
blood-dancing mist.
Both hearts punch,
one striking at
terror, one anxious
with joy. The rattle,
thrash, and kill.
Hundreds of teeth.
A mother on the sand,
the helpless witness.
Something Bit Me
Unless I'm mistaken,
I was out of sync for
a moment or two, because
I recall nothing about
such a featured occurrence
in any part of the travel
agent's litany.
Poem © 2003 Dawn Divada, all rights reserved
