Like a banshee, you wailed as I fell.
Perhaps it was your shrill scream that pierced the ocean and
formed the angry, frothing mouth that swallowed me.
Inside this snowglobe of aquamarine,
saltwater churns like clockwork:
tossing top, heaving bottom, displacing even it's own heart
as everything yields to current and undertow.
This is the rule of the sea: nothing stays hidden.
Soon, she will set me free.
Rising with the moon, I shall ride the swell of the waves
and drift toward estuarine waters or some unbeached shore.
Eventually, I will be found,
what's left by spawning salmon tagged as "Jane Doe"
until positively identified (by you, most probably).
You will weep,
and make a fairy tale of my life to the authorities;
layering lies to conceal how I was always to you---
a mere floater with hardly any salt in me.
So mote it be.
I sought the bottom of the sea to fulfill your life-long prophecy.
Posted by Stephie Cruz at 8:58 AM