The Weight Of Water

By Kelly Grace Thomas

 

In tide water torment,

lost in a house built on aching eyes,

I swallow the past in broken pieces of where the glue didn’t stick,

Salt-water expectation erode with tides push and pull in the tumble.

Love is a ghost that lives on the lake of full moon survival.

We rearrange furniture to see the world differently,

but never leave the house.

At breakfast I am reminded of the nights I spent with each,

different shades of blue I met at midnight,

how each called my name.

Silent kitchen table meditation, swim in their forgotten touch.

Once so close, now like strangers on a bus.

I wonder where they drink their coffee,

I wonder what or who each is missing.

I wonder what rearview reflections hold when the lyrics stick.

Cold pancakes, sweet and sticky in a breakfast diner, stories break.

Left overs that leave you hungry.

Rooms are decorated by the absence of what used to be or never was.

Posters, with yellowed marks where their memories hang.

Our search for place will never end.

 

I stopped floating when I was thirteen, felt the weight of the world

like the handcuffs of God,

Knuckles on my shoulder pressing me down, asking me to drink what it means to be heavy.

to understand buoyancy is not a right.

Ignorance, a luxury I was never afforded.

Sometimes I think I feel too much.

Stories live inside my veins, boa construct my heart until I can wrestle them out

translate the experience in similes.

I am sea glass, tumbled and scraped,

Cloudy in flight,

smoothness will be birthed through the storm

but first I must be held under.