There was a time I was like water—
my outer layer opening and bringing brine
near as second skin. I was swimming for
others, yes, of course. This was my course—
swallowing silver flicker after silver flicker
until I was a wet fire. Filling to empty into
my family, sure, I was this. But I was water
too. Could outswim seal’s jaw by releasing
ocean from under feather. Sea and me
transformed to a vein of light in depths
of an ever-heaving darkness—I was more
than this bulk of self, caged. I was the sea—
the sea was me, and we, intertwined,
touched until we could not tell one from
other. If I’m not well neither’s sea. Give
me this failing chance to save. Free me.
–
This poem is included in The Precipice of Extinction, a multi-platform project by Cheryl Gross and Nicelle Davis.
Nicelle Davis is a California poet, collaborator, and performance artist who walks the desert with her son J.J. in search of owl pellets and rattlesnake skins. Her poetry collections include The Walled Wife, In the Circus of You, Becoming Judas, and Circe.