Rogue Wave

Marie Kane

She examines what the February
sea threw and the beach caught:
shreds of jellyfish, a half-rotted
doll, garbled masses of kite string
twined around one slack, yellow
and orange kite.

Her first sister, panic, remains
above the tide, skips porcelain
shells into metal-gray water,
while her second sister, dread,
knows they will sink
in spite of daring jumps over
marble-grained waves.

Out to sea, a vertical wall
of water rears, focuses
on smaller waves, exerts
tremendous pressure.

What did she do or say
for motion to drain
out of her and strength
stagger across the dunes?

Rogue wave heaves
without warning–
with no hiss of receding.