![]() I feel the humidity, inhaling until my ribs spread tight, holding it in, letting it out. This water is old, carrying years by the billion, and I see Michael’s pink-brown mouth moving in my head- Two-thirds of the air we breathe comes from the ocean, from plankton, from bacteria, from these little forests of kelp making sugar and air. The waves loop, crashing the shore with a stretched, hushed rhythm. I go to the ocean after my shift, the beach dimly lit from the strip of lights winding along the coast. I find my face murky in the glass, the palm foliage black-green and blurry behind me. When she says, We’re moving back home, there’s a hole in my belly. I’m thinking of her face, her nostrils flaring from frustration. ![]() When she says, You ain’t hit me back in weeks, I eat the silence. ![]() I’m pacing in a slow circle, the warm pre-dawn and cold AC taking turns touching my body. Then Asha calls me, shrinking me back to her baby sister, softening me to clay waiting for her voice. I walk to the spinning doors and close myself in. ![]() We both should be doing different things. Mya and her mom are laughing, pushing the cleaning cart down the lobby, the warm light filling their mouths. Empty and hungry behind the hotel desk, I’m staring at the revolving door and stuffing my tongue into the hole in my back tooth. ![]()
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. ArchivesCategories |