are a species all their own
amphibious, part Selkie
gypsies of this watery realm
at the end of the world
worshippers of moon and tides
arriving in caravans, VW vans
piled high with boards and bodies
eager to swarm beach breaks
Squinty-eyed against the morning sun
they survey Neptune’s turbulent expanse
amped to find clean waves and nugs;
in their slick black neoprene skins
and coppertone leathered faces
topped with matted, salt flecked hair,
they begin the ritual wax
of their long-finned appendages
kneeling on a frothy seafoam altar;
the green blue behemoth beyond
rising in anticipation
answering the call
At Praia do Tonel
the surfers congregate
grommets and wavehogs –
reverent riders of the swells
on this blustery mid-November morn,
oblivious to the sting of sharp wind
and tangy ocean spray;
heedless to coastal cliffs, towering sentinels
corralling this stretch of wild,
ancient rock formations alive
with swallow swoop and pigeon roost;
unaware of the fishermen high up on the yellow bluffs,
indifferent to the hodads and the envious audience,
sitting earth bound upon fallen boulders
after the long walk down the scarp steps
to walk the length of beach
mesmerized by such fluidity and freedom.
Lisa Borkovich (she/her) writes poetry and prose. Her work has appeared in various national and international journals and ezines, including The New Quarterly, Hamilton Arts and Letters Magazine, IWA/45 Magazine Literary Journal, Asylum Magazine, Canadian Literature (upcoming), Amethyst Review, Soul Forte and The Human Writers.