islamorada
by Brynn Johnson
i was a pelican, jaw outstretched and
wide. my mother’s breast cut open,
a dangling ruby, bleeding into my
mouth. i was never bottlefed.
she pressed her damp head into
sea salt feathers and told me to
pull at the fishing line in her throat
until the hook fell into our laps.
i brought you back, she said, i raged
at the sand until it gave you up again,
and death rolled off your wings.
she said, don’t you love me that much ?