I am not her mother

Anna Slesinski

I am not her mother she points out,

but I am the one sitting on the sand

watching her flip, jump the waves, waving to me.

I could be a mother.

I watch as she brings her hand down 

to meet the next wave, low-five, 

and it hits her hand so hard I can hear it from the beach. 

We lock eyes and laugh, her standing 

then falling to the water, me 

clutching my wide-brim hat from the wind. 

I am not her mother, 

but I want her safe. 

I have snacks and sunscreen.

I know the look on her face 

when she is tired of conversation,

when she is sad. 

Now, she pretends to faint into the water 

dramatically. Hand on her forehead, 

pleased when I smile. 

She does this again and again, 

submerging herself in saltwater, me smiling.

I could be a mother. 

We play our parts until it is time to go home:

a girl fainting into the water, 

a mother smiling, and an ocean.