This one takes place off the coast
of the Big Island of Hawaii.
"Strong enough."
Strong enough to climb backward up the heaving ladder
on the stern of the six-pack dolphin charter.
Strong enough to ignore the stretch along the scar marking
where the sentinel node first gathered
radioactive dye headed for the cleanup crew of lymph nodes.
Strong enough to wait till Captain Tripp calls, OK,
pool's open, before slipping with just a tiny splash
into the sea pocked with dorsal fins, festooned
with dolphins' spume.
Strong enough to calm my tunnel of air as sunlight
radiates through saltwater.
And out of the depths, first two noses, then five, then dozens,
a wave of sleek passing.
Strong enough to turn sideways and find face
to my face, a wild eye, curious at home in this element I'm
visiting, floating among clicks and chirps
bouncing off everything, even me,
signals strong enough to alert the whole suspended host
to danger, strong enough to let them know which way feels best,
strong enough to keep close the ones who need to be gathered
near, strong enough to signal who speaks our language,
who knows this terrain, who's bad news?
Strong enough to overcome the bite that
left a white starburst scar, strong enough
to swim with the pod, though this wound's
visible from far off, evidence there
we're not always strong enough, not always fast enough, not
always able to get out of the way of the teeth strong enough
to tear off a part of our perfectly good body,
tear it off, swallow it, and swim away,
stronger now for the nourishment our flesh offers while we
bleed, wide open to millions of organisms immediately at home
in any open sore.
Strong enough in numbers to do away with us,
though we swim hard away, swim among those of our kind
who might, for a moment, protect us,
swim toward the shining globe of the bait ball
shimmering, millions of tiny lives,
swimming as long as we're strong enough.