Poem

This riptide has me
and my voice couldn’t carry across
the waves even if I gave it
permission to flee.
The water claws for space
in my lungs.
I hear help nearby
but they throw me their anchors.
It’s too much weight for them
to carry, they say.
And these assumed burdens
latch onto my wrists
pulling me down.

And I can’t catch a breath.
Yet, here’s another anchor.

This storm too shall pass.
And I vaguely remember the relief
of air filling lungs.
In another life, perhaps.

And no one hears.
And no one hears.

And this

too

shall