There’s a gentle hum in my ears at all times.
Sometimes it’s ringing, calling out to me to
take action—
do something with my day—
and other times it’s smooth, in waves,
rocking me to sleep like I’m by the shore,
about a hundred feet out to sea, and the water
is breathing into me, humbling me.

When the nervous ticks come, and my body starts to
shake
break
wake,
I fight to get back to shore.
I raise my hand up towards the sun, curving it over the cloud, and
scooping up the last bit of air that I can
because I know I’m going down.

And then I’m on the couch and he’s making me laugh,
And I feel myself pushing the bad feelings down.
They’re like a sinking rock that I accidently dropped,
I didn’t expect it to fall so fast,
but now that it’s gone, I’m starting to
relax, breathe in, then out.
Never knew why I kept the rock in my pocket, thought
it was just something I was meant to keep
locked close to me, so that it couldn’t hurt me
when I lost sight of it.
But I watched the rock slip away from my grip,
my fingers reached
instinct
but his arm around my shoulder
reeled me back.
I imagined my pebble, worn and dark,
smacking the shells of an undersea pavement,
and staying there
while I swam away.

He pulls me in towards him,
skin against skin,
and the tide tries to pull my feet back,
but he makes the world raise a white flag for me.
Our mast is stronger, catches the wind in flight,
grips the curve of the wave just as it’s galloping forward,
and we glide towards shore, like clouds in the sky.