Poetry: going with the undertow

i want to open hands like sails and catch the wind

my body is a ship about to unmoor

and i can hear the tide slapping against the hull of my heart

it tastes like salt spray, a siren’s call

i’ll skim across the whitecaps until i hit the shoals of a new shore

the hull of my heart moored in foreign soil

toes like splintered wood sinking into the sand

until they kiss the brackish water that tastes like home

i’m only an island if the tide doesn’t take me

it calls to my soul like the lick of waves

white-capped against horizon line

i take a breath before diving in


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