How to Breathe Underwater

First published in Mantle: the South Coast Writers Centre Anthology of Writing, Dec 2022

i.                    You blow bubbles       beneath a rotting jetty.

He holds you in two hands,        teaches you

how to      breathe       underwater.

ii.                  You’re out       in his flimsy tinny.    You grin up

at his sunburnt face         

as you grip                   your first bream.        

iii.                At Coochiemudlo,       you find a sea

cucumber and blue starfish      

washed ashore.            You try smuggling

them home      in your mum’s purse.

iv.                Your mates discover           a sketchy

rope swing        on a bush track.  

You take turns             plunging into the creek

as you ignore             the odd dorsal fin.

v.                  On your honeymoon,              you scream

and Dad laughs          when a manta ray

drapes your shoulders                    like a cape. 

      Dad forgets        that he’s told us     this one already.

vi.                You force us to trek      the whole island      on foot.

      With the ocean           on our right,                  

 you teach us listening            to the waves    

is how we hear            our way back.

vii.              Every holiday              we can remember

you’ve dragged us       to the beach.

When you look out     over the horizon,         I believe

some part of you         still searches        

the water            for signs of distress.