By | 31 October 2021

Memory is patchwork. The last thing
you recall is sky – a sudden bristling of
blue, a wild wobbling. Missteps prove
costly. You fall through the thick tulle
of algae and pond scum, plummeting
past the hyacinths and lilies, lime green
roots glowing, squiggling in the dark
like fluorescent strings of binary code.

You plunge through the vial of ink,
panic ballooning, as your legs churn
amniotic darkness, sinking, sinking,
till at long last a demigod grabs your
placenta hair. You break the surface.

Splayed on firm earth your nostrils
spew slime. Air inflates your alveoli
You wheeze back to life. With bleary
eyes you trace the mocha arc on your
left hand, the old clairvoyant woman’s
words ringing loud and true: Strange,
this melding of mounds, this ebony dip,
this meandering pace of your lifeline.

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