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Another Dark PlaceI. We were always afraid. Afraid to swim out too far, go too deep or stay in too long, afraid to wander from the safe escape of the beach. So we collected stones, minnows & tadpoles in our shoes, made moats or mud pies, little sandcastles instead. II.
Now for the crayfish-crawl of my heart into the shallow present tense. Now for clam-fist, fish-net, & dissolution. Now just spit it out, or swallow again. And now they are dragging the lake, searching for us. III. From the black lake I rise. Foam thick on my neck, pearled across my collarbones, chin. My spine is dorsal. Elbows finned. Nostrils drip beneath my magnified eyes, over my lukewarm lips: my mouth minnows, tongue slicked with scales as it slips through the narrowed spout of my throat. My thighs rivulet up from web-tipped toes to converge in the pond-scum at my hips, draining more thick blood & muck. Fertile and fetid. My whole body bewildered by water, I am bellying my way through the shallows to you. IV. The beast drinks from the shallows of the lake. A leech hooks to its lip & sticks, slaking its own bloody thirst. It sucks & swells, sucks & swells, taking its fill. Taking it slow. Taking its time. V. Night sinks. We push through the screen of cricket song, into the dark. The frogs also sing —the dark, amphibious black shallows shift at your ankles as you walk in, & go laughing, straight down. CommentsComments are closed.
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