I saw a red bikini top against olive skin and black hair shine with wet. I saw it bob with washing white water. She was alone, impaled wave after wave. I watched her grow weak. Slowly her strength drain. With every wave another few feet further. I watched and did nothing. I felt the same force on my legs pull me through grains of sand loose in the slur of froth. Finally a man swam to her with a cheap foam body board. She took it immediately, exhausted. As she came to shore, I commented that I couldn't tell if she needed help, and she explained. She explained how she suddenly felt no bottom. She swallowed water in her panic. As she told the story , I could see she had bright green chewing gum in her mouth. Thinking about it later made me think of a museum trip to Isis' temple at the MET in New York. I remember walking around sarcophagi decorated with what I took for hieroglyph equivalents to formulas for eternal life, yet the moths of tourist that circled these artifacts behind vitrines with me, were so absorbed in their handheld devices, texting, tapping glass faces.
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