Breathing Under Water

I built my house by the sea.
Not on the sands, mind you;
not on the shifting sand.
And I built it of rock.
A strong house
by a strong sea.
And we got well acquainted, the sea and I.
Good neighbours.
Not that we spoke much.
We met in silences.
Respectful, keeping our distance,
but looking our thoughts across the fence of sand.
Always, the fence of sand our barrier,
always, the sand between.

And then one day,
----and I still don't know how it happened----
the sea came.
Without warning.
Without welcome, even
Not sudden or swift, but a shifting across the sand
like wine,
less like the flow of water than the flow of blood.
Slow, but coming.
Slow, but flowing like an open wound.
And I thought of flight, and I thought of drowning
and I thought of death.
And while I thought, the sea crept higher, till it
reached my door.
And I knew then, there was neither flight, not death,
nor drowning.
That when the sea comes calling you stop being
neighbours,
Well acquainted, friendly-at-a-distance, neighbors
And you give your house for a coral castle,
And you learn to breath underwater.

Carol Bieleck