Tiptoe

She left the water the way one leaves a beloved.

She tiptoed out of the water
as though she didn't want to leave.

Admittedly,
she was tired.

She had bathed,
soaked,
waded in the surf
for a long, long time.

Her skin was withered
and wrinkled
by the lapping waves.

Rest waited
on the shore,
inside the deep sands.

But alas,
the waves still called her.

Though she tiptoed out of the water,
she paused,
listened to the surf,
turned around,
and with a smile,
returned to the sea.

A poem by Pemba Umoja