by Jenny S., 17
All this blood—Pooled in the crook of your elbow. Blooming on the sleeves of your dress.
The fish are spilling intestines. The coral are intestines.
This way, you can live underwater. Where you breathe the blood like air
& fold the wind like paper.
You sing ’til there’s no room to swallow. Encyst in the reflection of the moon.
The fish can’t hear you. The fish swim through you.
This is where you spill the wounds or forget. When your scars become survival,
when drinking your face is the only way—this way. We’ll remember the war.
Remember I asked for you slowly. You responded like a hurricane.
Palo Alto, California
Bridge Ink 