i fight with my mother. i throw myself into the water.
it’s frigid. it makes goosebumps all over me.
there’s no one in the water for a mile. this frightens me.
the black nun fish roam beneath me with no flicker of reflection or dart. they soothe me.
so do the swallows on my legs. everyone seems surprised that i gave them names.
i could be famous for my ability to pretend. i could name an emigrating cloud
and feel friends with it forever. i understand that no one is in the water
because it is cold. i don’t care that it’s cold.
the wind wrinkles the waves and freeze burns my scalp.
it makes it difficult to see the dark fish angels and anything else.
i tell myself i am not afraid. there is nothing here that could hurt me more.
nothing that could hurt me more.
i move like an inhuman in the water. it feels good.
i spin myself against the soft resistance.
i lay down in the surface and try to gouge the cry out. i give up.
i swim to the other side where they speak a different language
and hate their fathers. i don’t spend the night.
i don’t want to talk to her ever again. i swim back to the shore where she sits.
i always end up feeling so adolescent.