wet my feet
to the ankle, a cold bracelet
on each calf
my ribcage is a flimsy marquee on a garden lawn.
Then.
Feet folded like a priest’s hands,
Tide sucking at my kneecaps
arch my back, floating.
Ribs open to the sky
The top six inches of water are warm
stretch myself thin like an oil slick
water pulling at the sound
in my ears
dragging it out,
emptying my mind into
the sun,
into the sea
arms outflung like a teen on her bed
elbows bobbing near my ears
like those bubbles
greasy green pearls in
bladder
wrack,take me
home,
gloria
