I
We grin, my sister and I,
in front of Matey.
We pat the eight-foot dinghy.
She is dark green inside,
and serves as our perfect sailboat.

II
We ease Matey into the water,
rope her to the dock,
then christen her
with a bottle of sparkling grape juice.

III
I crouch low, out of the boom’s reach.
I release, then pull the main sheet,
and adjust the tiller,
determined to go faster.

IV
As I race my sister and cousin,
the salty wind blows my hair out behind me.
I trim my main sail, and catch a puff of wind.
Matey scoots ahead of their factory-made ten footer.
That shows what little homemade boats can do, I think.
“Phttt,” I stick my tongue towards their disbelieving faces.

V
I sail alone, as Matey pushes through the waves,
with me in complete control.
I could go around the island this way,
or the other, I think.
Or I could go straight out.

Here, no one can boss me around.
Here, I can feel the breeze blow through my hair.
Here, finally alone on the ocean, I’m at peace.