Adrift Off the Shore of Marshall Island

I am swaddled in heat, an
overcast shudder. Breaths empty me, so
I fill my chest with colors. My throat collects
a falling. My tongue is a prison, rapping at my
mouth’s roof. Something like the sea
churns in me: we both draw
a lather to lips. I made
my children a storm
entirely of grayed
yarn.
This is fantastic
you say.
We are all leaving me now.

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