It’s Easy to Drown


Once as a girl I felt drowning. A vacation to Nova Scotia, in the thrash of a wave— dead or alive—a wave wants

what it wants. This one clonked my skull on hard sand, somersaulted me

I couldn’t reach air. My life felt short— before death the next second must come—

I saw smartly how I had no more

choice— but a miracle or moon power pulled back the sea, pushed me forth into the vast luck of a longer day between foam and sky, when my uncle righted me by the sea weedy strings of my bathing suit, but I wasn’t right.


My scalp was warped.


I stumbled on drift stick legs. A waterfall gushed nearby from the rocks,

even under its force, my roots clung to the sand and I failed to rinse out all the grains.

sand hills

Kelly DuMar is a poet, playwright and workshop facilitator from Boston.
She’s author of three poetry chapbooks, girl in tree bark (Nixes Mate,
2019), Tree of the Apple (Two of Cups Press), and All These Cures,
(Lit House Press). Her poems, prose and photos are published in many
literary journals including Bellevue Literary Review, Tupelo Quarterly,
Crab Fat, Storm Cellar, Corium & Tiferet. Kelly serves on the Board of the
International Women’s Writing Guild (IWWG) and produces the Bi-Monthly
Open Mic Writer Series attended by women worldwide. She blogs her daily
nature photos & creative writing at