I love to submerge myself in
water.
Each breath lost underwater given
with eager reverence.
Each pang in my lungs, a prayer.
As I drift, humming a muffled
lullaby, to the surface,
my blue world disappears beneath my sun- soaked feet,
leaving traces of glittering foam—tiny diamonds—dappling the unfirm
Earth
like pretty pieces of Nature’s crown scattered about my mortal toes.
And with its disappearance, I sink slowly.
Abandoned by water, I am vulnerable,
stripped of the protection of the
infinite blue.
No longer a being of the Sea,
but a creature of Earth am I.
Sound is clear and harsh here.
My ears sting with the chorus of words the water washed
away:
Kill the dyke, kill the dyke, God said
Stone the fags, God said
Stone the fags!
Sight is overwhelming and paralyzing here.
A crowd of children vindictively
jab fingers of condemnation at me.
They clench stones in their
tiny fists,
poised to steal my life.
Touch is jarring and excruciating here.
Sharp thuds of muddy rocks against my flesh,
meaningless against these earthly weapons.
All I feel are my bones cracking, bruising, crying out for relief.
Please.
That helplessly raw word tears from my lips before I can
pause to clench the throat of Weakness and
choke him into silence.
Taste is thick and bitter here.
Rubies fill my mouth.
I thought they would taste as divine as they look.
But they cake my tongue, my teeth, my lips
with a viscous, rusty chalk.
I surrender as I fall,
a broken rag doll,
to the dirt.
My body begins
to give itself to sleep.
And I pray to oblivion,
Let the waves drag me back to the water.
Phoebe Woofter (she/they) is an outdoorsy Portlander who graduates from University of San Diego with a degree in English this May. Her work has appeared in Human/Kind Journal, Vamp Cat Magazine, Headline Poets and Press, and College Magazine.
Twitter: @WoofterPhoebe
Instagram: @phoebewoofter