with a line by Ellen Bass
In water, my body remembers—
a boat cutting its way
through blue-green sea, dolphins riding
the wake, breath short,
joy caught in the drawer of my throat.
Ocean: ultimatum.
Ocean: mirror.
At a beach, where from both sides
children shriek, dive into salted waves while I remain
without voice for the moment at hand.
It’s easy to discount how light shudders
before crests show themselves.
In the bathtub—even here, a rush from the source,
god we’ve been waiting for, waters rising
like good bread, like a world thirsty
for its origins, something displaced,
limbs pushing against soft force,
I blink and find darkness of beginnings.
You, forever slipping through my fingers—ocean:
body greater than ours.
Ocean: twisting away, jilted lover.
Longing as inevitable end—
swallowed by rhythmic lapping, rooting
among bottom dwellers, eyes protrude
from sediment, see our past-future loop
made whole, rocked by embryonic symphony.
I don’t blame you for the gills we gave up,
I only want to put out this fire.
published in May by Rogue Agent.
