Dad has motored our sailboat out of the Sound
into the little cove.
The tide is high enough for the keel to clear
the muddy bottom.
We will anchor here for a brief hour
to swim and sun on the deck until the tide turns.
I am eight.
Showing off, I climb to the cabin top,
dive into the water.
I do not see it in the sudden dark.
I feel sea weed, the barnacles scraping.
A dive into unknown waters,
a boulder under the surface,
just there, below where we float,
leaves me with a raw scrape on my shoulder,
a view in my memory of blood drifting away
and a lesson learned.