Nautical Joyride Aisha Truss-Miller
On our first and only family vacation my mother Doris, sister Shannon, and niece Shamari head for one night in Miami, and then a cruise the following day headed to the Bahamas. I’m no swimmer- none of us are. Before now, I had only heard and felt light splashes of the Atlantic Ocean. I had read so many pieces of work by Black folks, about her history and mightiness. That first night on the cruise ship my forethoughts of good food, good drank, non-stop dancing were replaced with the excitement of foreignness and familiar-ness intertwined in blood memories that took hold of me, as I stood next to my 16-year-old niece listening to the whispers and roars of the ocean. While on the deck I looked into the light and hope of darkness- it’s so Black, blacker than me. Darker than my favorite hue of Midnight Blue, Blue-Black, Beautiful, Majestic, Strong, Seamless. The night’s sky and Atlantic are one, nothing to tell them apart with exception to the handful of stars the universe rolled and released in the air like a pair of dice on concrete, hitting 7, time and time again. The sky and the ocean are one. I hold the railing tight as I curiously and cautiously lean forward to look overboard, to see the subtle waves I hear sparring with the ship. She whispers, and I imagine how sharks and other creatures of the ocean move freely under the surface of their natural and seemingly endless liquid homeland. I imagine if Atlantis is real- and about mermaids with curvy hips and underwater flawless afros living free- with no desire to give up their power to walk the lands with man-kind.
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