one poem by Rebecca Karas

Catacomb of Silt

I remember

you in a dress

despite your

watery home

tucked in the

abyssal plain.

The enduring

plaid of

school years,

though,

you were barely

treading water then.

It only took

a drunken admittance,

spewed by a

red-cheeked,

forgettable man.

You,

desperate to evolve

into sun-drenched

sargassum,

but

built to endure

boundless pressure

in the sea trench.

Clawed skyward,

through the silt of

strangers,

but how did you know

the surface

in the endless dark?

A mouth full of sediment,

squelched

from the depths

of a forgotten deluge.

Did your heart

palpitate

with manufactured

shame,

when you reached

the end?

I can only hold

what’s left of you.

Hunched over the shore,

still

whispering

your name,

while I hunt

for your viscus,

rotting pieces,

like sea glass.

Bloody gums

cover gray rot.

Trench mouth

from a war

you never

fought in.

I want to pull

the soft flesh

over me

like a blanket;

I want to tuck myself

at the tip of your pharynx,

so you feel the

domicile

I made for you

with every swallow.