I

If dead men float face-up,

then why are my lips so pale,

my flesh so maleable,

mush under my fingers?

If I had been floating face-up,

my complexion would be sun-scarred

and jealous of the water-logged half.

But I have been wasting, face-drowned.

Occaisionally, my nose with run against

the rounding rocks at the bottom.





II

A bottle, ocean-worn and half-filled with water,

brushes against my body,

pecking at my arm like a wide-mouthed door-knocker.

I want to scream:

DON'T JUST STAND THERE LOOKING waiting for someone

to rip your mouth from you. SAY SOMETHING.

But muted by saltwater, it just looks at me, ocean-green and knocking.

I would get up and answer,

but I've been floating face-down for so long now.

I don't remember how.



With the persistance that such an object pokes and prods me,

it must contain something important.

I wouldn't be able to read it anyways- my fingers have decayed by now,

if they are still there at all.

My widened eyes have not yet remembered how to see.



The water laps against me like a persistant child.

I should tell it that noone's home.

The bottle crushes against me- I swear,

If it doesn't let me alone, I will use all the strength I can muster

to grab it 'round the neck and chuck it to the other side

of the universe-

to the place where eyes and fingers dont exist.

And never read a word it says.







III.

The tide has been too low recently-

it left me here, and now fails to return for me.

It laps at my fingers, begging me into the folding waves,

but my legs no longer work like that.

I can barely trace their names in the sands.

How will I remember them when my fingers forget?



IV

I think the sea has forgotten that I'm still alive-

It has left me here, and the sands benieth me have taken me for a rock,

hollowing out a space for me to spend eternity.



V.

I see nothing but brightness during the day and darkness at night.

I feel only the coolness of water when it brushes the edges of my skin.

I came here to find her, the insides of me.

I came an empty shell, concavity consumes me.

I lie here waiting. The line was long when I arrived.

Most sipped slowly and left quickly.

I sipped quickly, and am leaving slowly,

waiting for my ride home.

I hope he's not dissappointed when he gets here.

Half of me is still missing.

11/11/2004

Posted on 11/17/2004
Copyright © 2024 Gabrielle L Gervais