Childish Games

We skipped, giggling, fearlessly on the pool’s ledge,
Avoiding the imaginary shark infested concrete.
Neither of us knew how to swim.
Father walked ahead, unaware of our game.

I heard a low roll of thunder, but the sky was clear.
My stomach had already devoured breakfast,
The hotel restaurant was close.
A sudden intake of breath; I looked toward sister.
Eyelashes touching my brows and cheekbones
My body went rigid as I watched her fall,
Shattering the sun’s brilliant reflection

Everything else was a whisper as dad turned,
And dived near the sign that told him otherwise.
My mouth hung stupidly open as she sank, deeper.
I looked around, no one seemed to notice, or care.
I glanced down, scared that I too might be drowning

My sister came up first, held by her hero.
I felt small and helpless as he lifted her onto the ledge.
She violently coughed up the water involuntarily swallowed
Warm, salty drops rolled silently down my cheeks,
I called her an idiot, because she scared me.
His clenched teeth and dominating eyes told me not to speak.

He grabbed the nearest, over-bleached, public towels.
One rested on his shoulders, and the other
He wrapped around her shivering wet body.
The sharks swam away, and the thunder quieted.