They watch me swim

beside sea turtles

with my gold rings

and bandaged cuts,

the very things

my brother said

would attract them,

would lead them

to haunt me ‘til

the water ran

pomegranate and

frothed with screams.

 

They watch me

through the haze

and murkiness

that comes with mid-

morning raindrops

that feed the sea,

watch me make

mistakes I know

better than to make—

yet make all

the same because

the plane tickets

and taxi fare

cost arm and leg.

 

They watch the way

my body gives

itself into the riptide.

In time my

lungs will fill with

water and brine and

oil and straws and

I’ll drift into

their circles, make

a feast of myself

the flavor of tires

and sweet dugong.

When my body

makes its way to

shore I’ll wear their

teeth as souvenirs.