Content warning: depictions of dysphoria.

You go to the beach
more than writing.
You undress
struggle yourself into
wet suit. You are hairless
smooth as suntan
lotion (like it, you
come off in water).
You filter
a whole sea
through the tongue.
You don’t wear goggles,
taste of marine life/an eaten
7/11 bag on lips/teeth.
When a huge wave picks you
up, rolls you over onto back
like a cat in a washing
machine, you cackle, feel
naked. A trickle
of blood leaks
merrily. Stormy days
you tumble awing
at the Godzilla-scale
of waves: your unknowing protector.
You look underwater, the bottom
five bodies down.
You observe sun
caking your belly, a hundred sharks trans-
– fixed in the waves. You feel
your body lightening
gills breaking out
feet forgotten/slaked/selkied.

About the Author

Photo by Mourad Saadi on Unsplash.