THE DROWNING ONES In these drowsy blue-green lands of sticky nights somnolent breezes that sigh over warm, sleeping skin and a sun reluctant to rise from its cool marine bed there live those chosen to be the Drowning Ones For the first time, at the age of one the child walks the beach a shy, delightful meeting though the sea is always eager then attendants retrieve the giggling child trying to capture gulls for a perfect drowning takes time … By five the Drowning One wades in to the knees and calls the sun Always, an acolyte attends at each side, strong and tall one day of listening to the shells, the secrets that they murmur and one night is spent on the beach, sung to by the tides With outspread arms the morning greetings gild the air with sound and at twelve the water laps lovingly between the thighs the Drowning Ones weave seaweed and glossy shells into hair start to hear and understand the deeper messages of water By sixteen, water has caressed each one’s breast fish swim obstacles around their legs and only now are they allowed to lift feet away from the shifting aquatic sand let water cup them in its embrace as silver fins stroke their sides It takes a while, a languid consideration, watching sand shift and whisper as tides retire, to achieve the perfect drowning always, the opposite sex prepares cloudy drinks on still-breath days the Drowning One chants, paces past the steamy passion of the jungle Turquoise waters slyly push wet fingers through the sand whetting appetites and teasing the toes of the Drowning Ones they offer morning rites, incantations blending with the waves recite songs to hold the water near as sun’s gaze heats their sight There are nights that hold eternity, a gentle sigh, a lonely bird’s cry each Drowning One makes love or is loved in the rhythmic movement of the waves crashing in, pulling out waiting breathless for that final crescendo that drowns them whole Under undulating palm fronds and shade skittish with heat hummingbirds observe attendants grinding coconuts and sand to paste or mixing the dyes of certain berries with the oils of aromatic flowers and four times the conch lows its lonely call as night swims across the land In the eighteenth year, when the moon is pregnant with lambent light the Drowning One is scrubbed to glowing with coconut and sand washed clean with cool spring water, burnished with scented oils then sleeps naked and alone upon the torpid beach watched by stars As the stretching sun first licks at the night sky, attendants arise wake the Drowning One and prepare a feast of fruit and fish pour a drink fermented through lazy searing days to fire the mind a fever growing, flaring as the sun acclaims its right to fill the sky As the Drowning One swallows the molten drink and spews visions chanting acolytes slowly shave all hair from limbs and head pluck eyebrows and between the legs until the Drowning One shimmers with coconut oil, bronzed and glowing as the sun When the sun swims into sunset, dives beneath the waves the Drowning One chews plump red berries bit by bit is lead to water’s edge, shells and seaweed a necklace, the only adornment and walks singing into the eager sea Reluctantly at first, begrudgingly the water pushes at the legs grows eager at the thighs and reaches to stroke at chest and arms pulls hungrily to kiss the head so long denied, it is hard to tell from the shore, which is more eager, Drowning One or ocean No acolyte knows for sure but Drowning Ones are taught to lift their legs spread out to the ocean, let it enter them entirely, being one when the bloody orb of an aging sun sinks to its watery bed the Drowning One is consumed as fins slice the ocean’s dark mirror