She was possessed at a young age
while standing on the shore of the east ocean (or was it the west)?
Salt water dewdrops on the fur of her cheeks.
Sand devoured her toes on the water’s edge.
Cold air poured into her tide pool lungs.
Ravens and gulls stood watching.
With one wave
the deep current dragged her out to sea.
Next wave stole her footprints from the sand.
There have been ten thousand more since you read these words.
Ten thousand waves, ten thousand footprints.
Along the way, seaweed grew between her toes and tangled in her hair.
Barnacles grew on her elbows and in the soft crevices behind her knees.
She’s swallowed bits of plastic, old lighters, and soda caps.
Starfish clung to her cheekbones and fish sipped at her eyes.
I have collected you all just by breathing.
I’ve grown many arms to gather you up.
I’ve grown many eyes to see many ways.
I tread water with ceaseless effort, for if I stopped to rest,
I would sink
and the starfish, and the seaweed, and the barnacles would lose their home.
She kicks and sweeps her arms through the heavy atmosphere
her chin tilted up.
The swelling tide; her heartbeat.
No one is in sight.
No boat, no being,above, outlaw stars cling to the fabric of the night sky.
And after ten thousand years she may let go.
And when she does, her body will be drawn to the center of gravity
Where her footprints hide within her own heart.