The Tiny Girl and the Sea

(with props to Ernest Hemingway)

rough-hewn umbilical cord

monstrous, natural

swinging and whipping

if not for its baby ballast:

tiny me

gasping

hand over hand

fibers and pores

shrunken, like Alice,

on nerve’s last, soggy straw

I trail through the void

skirts flapping

hair snapping

hard against my

tear-stained

wind-burnt

doe-eyed

face

pulled along the water—above

but not out of trouble

for the sea raged

the fish leapt

and I hung

and I swung,

hands gripping

rope burning

sweaty slipping

it’s dark and I’m

lost at speeds

o’er seas, endless seas

stop the storm

and drop my form

and walk me Home

Home Home

walk with me

on water, endless water

endlessly Home, Home, Home