in the summers
underwater,
i grew little gills
sometimes also,
fins.
my mother
would urge me
onto land for
sandwiches,
she would cock
her head sideways
on a beach, on a
deck.
“are you coming
in?” I’d yell
through a slur
of wet lips.
“maybe later”
she’d say “come
eat.”
mother never
grew gills like me.
she never lost
herself in
underwater
flips,
weightless.
& if she did
come in,
I would loom,
ominous
my hair clouded
jellyfish-like
she’d say “okay,
I see you. go play.
I don’t want
my hair getting wet.”
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Oloriel
This was fantastic, I could imagine everything as a story, reminiscing and the jellyfish-hair really gave a special feeling as an image.
Soleilboy
I dig this. Some of the most ripe moments come from the smallest occurrences. Your line about the hair floating, ominous, captures that perfectly, I think–implies that something greater is at work here. Cheers!
Jaclyn
I’m delighted that you picked out that subtle part of the piece. Thanks for reading…!
CML
Superior!!!!
ajmitzel
This is brilliant! I love your poetry.
angelsquirrel
Reblogged this on Finding Joy in the Ordinary.