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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 4355 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mentions Under the Weight of the Boat Treezaa (T. E. Ballard) Water is an odd tool. She comes and goes, night waves on my lids. I died once when I was a child, fell to the sea and my father the lobsterman never cried out, waited for me to surface like a small buoy tied to the rope of his hand. I remember death, the smell of fish, blue clouds tasting of salt and the idea of breathing not in and out-- simply holding my lips still, still like prayer. Gravity has no memory and water with her hammer beats in the corner of my ear. Peace comes when I do not move my hands, when I forget my need to be saved. Small fish swim like semen and I awake wet no longer my father’s child. But a woman who eats clouds in her sleep, a minnow-- no legs or feet. |
