Follow Vishal Dutia on WordPress.comIn their proverbs, the Sumerians quoted Fox as saying — on having pissedinto the sea — All the ocean is now my urine! Now, hang on there girl.I want to get a handle on your homeopathic incontinent ways,because I think you may be onto something. Firstly, what kind of foxare you that approaches the shore; no hen house to bother, no bramblesto scoff? No line of emerald shit to booby-trap the garden with?Perhaps wherever we are, you are; so why not the beach? What promisedid the salt ocean offer you, or appear to? Cured meat? Fish? After all,once a month I know I reek gloriously of kelp — salt and iron and yeast —an umami feast for the brave, or weak. Or were you worrying seabirdsup on the cliff — stopped in your tracks, unable to resist. A little splish.The wind threshing your water as it fell — yellow, scattered, one or twodrops of which maybe reached. Or perhaps you were caught short,coy on the beach, and entered the surf for decorum’s sake. All overthe world, miles from the sea, girls caught between poor sanitaryprovision and a social imperative to be discreet ﬁnd themselvesin a dark place, their skirts about their waists. Maybe it wasthe king’s men that saw ﬁt to drive you into the sea. But clever,resourceful, you just thumbed your nose and learned to swim.Paddled to safer land, much like we once did. Your charcoal pawsdoggedly turning the cold pages of the sea. Pausing now and thento pee, a comforting cloud of heat. And which child among us hasn’tcast their blessing on the waves? Sent into the surf by mothers, which of ushasn’t rightfully claimed the ocean as our own, or in turn been claimed?