FicWad

Water

The warm Midwestern sky above looks as tilled the farmland beneath it.
I dive into the river, and I remember it means more.
Ghosts live underwater.
They smooth around my breasts and snake around my waist,
nothing so silk.
They tremble and dance as my fingers outstretch and pull through sunlight.
And spirits like melted glass.
Inside ourselves, we are mostly haunted.
Our memories slip around our membranes
ancient, growing and orificial.
Our ancestors are our membranes.
We are haunted and together.
And in the end, we all drown.
My skin is peeled of history as it dries.
The warm Midwestern sky above looks as tilled our farmland beneath it.
And because we are born;
I cry.