Photograph by Kathleen Sara Shattuck
“Go back to the shore,” the voice said to me.
I don’t know how! I screamed. I don’t know where that is!
Tears welled behind my closed eyes; to have them open would cause a stream to run; a torrent, a river.
“Go back to the shore,” the voice echoed.
I’m trying, I said, but I’m lost, abandoned in a dream; no sail, no rudder.
I can smell the salt in the air
I can feel the breeze in my hair
I hear, “Come closer, you are near”
Talk to me! Tell me how to find you.
“Step out; don’t be afraid, I’m here to catch you if you fall.”
The voice is in my head
But I’m falling instead
I’m sinking, and the eye socket can no longer hold the eye. Locked in the closet I look at my watch. It is time, coming here soon her chin sticks out, and recedes, the money is gone. The celebs, how do you know this?
What does this mean?
“The micro chip stands for eighteen.”
I ask again and again, what does this mean?
I have denied her so many of the credits.
Deeper and deeper I wade into the watery dreamscape.