by Alexandra Corinth
I was born underwater no legs, gills folded into my pudgy neck
before the reef was scorched by the sun and the surf before an obsession with plastic bled around dolphins’ throats
I remember diving, unafraid of darkness because the shadows were safe —except when they weren’t—
I remember cresting suddenly aware that my hair had weight
I remember the violent wars of my people histories and languages only known beneath the din
My body contains centuries of seas sculpted by centuries of tides—
but my mother says none of this is true
she says I’m twenty-nine years old and I came from her belly (though she won’t say how) and I’m afraid of the ocean after all: Don’t you remember how you screamed at the seawitch?
and after years of this dialogue I have forgotten how the salt felt in my lungs
Sometimes, I lay in my bathtub in the middle of the human night let the water cover my nose and mouth and wait
wondering if tonight will be the night that I can go back
Alexandra Corinth is a disabled writer and artist based in DFW. Her chaplet, DEUS EX DIAGNOSI, was published by Damaged Goods Press in 2019. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Kissing Dynamite, Barren Magazine, Entropy, and SWWIM, among others. She is also an editorial assistant for the Southwest Review. You can find her online at typewriterbelle.com.
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