Stick Girl

William de Kypia

She bears no burden but the weight of the sun,

feels no pressure but the wind on her back,

has no ties but the cord to her board

     and even that’s quick release.

A tribe of kite-riders farther out

is a distant storm that will pass.

She got lucky, caught

a few fine sets with

many fine waves.

No gun girl trying to catch

some cruncher no one could ride,

just a funboarder content with

what has been given today.

This is the last—

    last set, last wave, it’s all good. 

That sun rose out of places she’s been.  

These waves roll in from countries she’s seen. 

As she hangs in the middle she is the between.

Pops up, trims the face

steady on her stick, calm

in the power of an ocean

half the earth huge.

Bends and the horizon

obeys, tipping the way

she tells it to go.

The wind is off shore

and she’s in the slot,

the place she needs

to be now.

She knows who she

is, likes it too.  She

will never kick out.

There is no beach

she’s heading toward,

no boy she thinks about. 

There’s nothing but what you see out there,

the girl and the stick and the wave.