I see you standing there,
knees bent, hands clenched,
muscles strained, breathing hard.
You are focused,
You have your side of the court;
I have mine.
We both wait, tensed, at the base line,
only feet away from each other.
Your gaze is directed at the net; mine is too.
Our opponents stand at the other side,
I squeeze the ball tighter in my hand,
flicker my eyes to the left where you stand.
I bend forward, press the ball against the racket strings, position my feet, then swiftly pull the racket back.
It twirls in my right hand, behind my back, expertly
as I toss the ball up from my left.
I bring the racket down with force
and it meets the ball.
The ball zips over the court in a blur of movement.
You snap up straight, alert, eyes trained on it.
My opponent swings, and the ball returns to your side.
You, my doubles partner, fly to it.
The game has begun.
The unwavering silence
is deafening to my ears.
Fins and scales of creatures unheard of
brush against my skin.
Obscured darkness is all my eyes can see, open or closed.
Nevertheless, the saltwater creeps past my eyelids and sets my face on fire,
but I could care less
because have sunk to the bottom of these murky depths.