Tuesday, March 06, 2007

Rising



I want buoyancy; it is full and wet, like a newborn. I close my eyes and imagine slipping back into water. I am soft again, my skin slick and brown. I listen to the muffled sound of waves crashing, and somewhere deep in my gut, I feel myself rising up. I feel myself leaving him forever.

--from "Stomach," a work-in-progress


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