Lizzy Burnam 🐞

Falling asleep
like a sea star 
and a stone. 
Buoyed under belly, 
coconut milk, 
seaweed-satin 
and your arm  
around my hip. 
I don’t need 
your ear, or 
your teeth, or 
your toes. 
No—dock your 
bigger boat, 
toss your chest 
of rubies, gold. 
See, when I 
was young, 
my grandma  
sang me songs
of seahorses
who dance, bio
-luminescence, 
and angelfish 
who never 
swim alone. 
Yet I fled from 
sharks, I molted 
multiple homes. 
I swallowed
acid poison, 
scrubbed 
the stink of oil 
from my gulf. 
I cut the plastic 
noose that 
had twisted 
round my throat
—that line was 
cast and cast 
and cast until 
it broke. What 
I want are gentle 
waves, temperate 
touch, consistent 
as a waltz 
from rise to fall. 
Yes, I know 
the waxing moon
must also wane. 
But while a sailor 
sails, an island
only waits, warm
and ripe from 
shore to shore.  
Tell me you will 
coast again, 
drop your anchor 
here, and moor, 
and moor, 
and moor.