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Mar 2016
To face the fear of being liquid, I go under, float the drift.  Leave the boat behind, no worries.  I am in no hurry     to school with the rest, colorful parrot fish, at home in the depths.  

I am not afraid of sharks materializing from the inked abyss. The nothing in their soulless eyes is just black-bottomed assessing - not one of us.

In a lazuli sea, the barracuda cartel tails me, their silver barrels rule the reef, leering grins glinting diamonds, hungry pirates seeking gold hidden in my tender lobes.  

Yellow-bellied sea snakes swarm, their sinuously wicked heads disappear and reappear on ebb and crest of every wave, see their split tongues read the chemistry of each exhaled breath.

A swollen catch unsought.  Forsworn.  What's lost will be reborn.  From within, yolk still tethered, resting on the bottom.  Net a dying heart, return it to the deep, watch it roll and flutter, remember how to beat.
*When metaphors intersect with true stories*
Denel Kessler
Written by
Denel Kessler
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