It feathered me, it freed me, it made me
well. Lifted dread, frizz, small pieces
stopped falling off. It floated me, it
rode on the back of a squid, it had no
bones to pick about anything. It washed
up on the beach, a green bottle with a
message: consume me. It fell
onto driftwood, became a white and
red rowboat crashing waves, smashing
into seawalls. Grand illusions bobbed
like dollhouse miniatures, clock
hands that measured worth spilled into
the ocean, drugging time. It was anti
everything: histamine, racist, biotic,
frantic. Aches left, heartache hovered
and drifted away. It twisted me in
seaweed, made me thirsty for salt,
drained my cup that overfloweth. It
blossomed into red and white
anemones, a box of oysters, rose water.
Mer-priests anointed me, flipped tails,
get your canons off me! it screamed
underwater. Propelled me into a new
tide, hauling sea-ass, scraping coral,
singing with jellyfish, stinging me holy.
_______________________________
Originally published in emerge 23, The Writers Studio Anthology, 2023.