I have been living closer to the ocean than I thought-- in a rocky cove thick with seaweed. It pulls me down when I go wading. Sometimes, to get back to land takes everything that I have in me. Sometimes, to get back to land is the worst thing a person can do. Meanwhile, we are dreaming: The body is innocent. She has never hurt me. What we love flutters in us.
From House of Poured Out Waters by Jane Mead. Copyright © 2000 by Jane Mead. Used with permission of the author and the University of Illinois Press. All rights reserved.