Saltwater Sting

Katherine Hoerth

September 30, 2022

It’s a dogged summer day.

We’re at the beach, North Padre Island.

I’m thirteen. We’re celebrating

your birthday as you join me in

the strange new world of teenagers.

The night before, we shaved our legs

for the first time, relished in

the silk and satin of our skin

touching. I smell of pomegranates.

You smell of coconuts. We run 

the shoreline, giggling, then jump

into the waves’ embrace of bubbles.

You grab my hand. I hang on tight. 

We clench our teeth. You yell out SHARK

then laugh and the absurdity

of life, horizon filled with danger,

jellyfish lurking in the seaweed,

how we make the whole world froth

at the mouth, how everything

nibbles, pricks, devours. We dig

our toes into the sand to keep

the undertow from pulling us

into its underworld of blue.

On the shore, the music blasts,

Selena’s “Bidi Bidi Bomba” 

beckoning us back. The palms

dance, their bodies lithe like ours,

bending in the gulf stream wind

but never breaking, like we would—

two girls swimming in an ocean

on a sinking island, linking

arms. We’re in this mess together.

We scream into the darkening

vista, savoring the sting

of saltwater on tender skin.

Katherine Hoerth is author of five poetry collections, including Flare Stacks in Full Bloom (Texas Review Press, 2022). Her work has been published in Literary Imagination (Oxford University Press), Valparaiso Review, and Southwestern American Literature. She is an assistant professor at Lamar University and editor of Lamar University Literary Press.