A girl edges nearer the end

I.
It felt like I slept under-sea
and the waters were wombs
where formed my dreams;
where catfishes feast on my hair.
They were nipping there, lightly
with the whisk-driven micro-
currents massaging my neck.
There was nothing more for me
underneath the waves, really,
but they lulled me, such
that to force my eyes open,
awake, is just foolishness.
So I did not move,
No, I never moved.

II.
I lay still, the skin
on my back pressing sand,
and I never dared make a sound.
I’m a sloth in hail,
the sibling of rain,
came and there breached
my watery shield.
They made little explosions(!)
and miniature tidals
as they penetrated
this womb I was in.
They quickened,
and quickened,
and quickened ’til madness
reached for my rest
and touched me—!

…as a dull scissor would
a young flow’r in July.
And I did not move,
No, I never moved.

III.
And soundly I slept through it all,
this bespectacled dream of sea,
and I slept, so wet, so wet, so wet,
as the catfishes continued
to feast upon me.

Hail, sibling of rain came
again and again and again—
but I did not move.
No, I never moved.

— A. P.

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