Submerged

If the wave were a sluiced middle finger. Brine
swills in my throat, tastes something

like cherry Robitussin. The sea plaits my hair
with wreaths of sand. I could be a bride or mermaid or corpse—

this is a cliffhanger. Just know that later they don’t call it
drowning. Once upon a time I was afraid. Of my landlord,

of my priest, of you. Plum-red scales, heaving breast and tilting earths.

Does that make me more fish, less human? If the wave
were a sluiced middle finger.

Emily Yin lives in the small town of Acton, Massachusetts. Her work has been published or is forthcoming in The Riveter Review, Front Porch Review, and GREYstone, among others.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Poetry and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Submerged

  1. wwwpalfitness says:

    Reblogged this on wwwpalfitness.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s