Ceto

Sometimes, I feel like I’m in a boat,
Atop stormy, thunder-split waters torn
By waves so great they spill up over the sides
Of stained, rusting metal and onto the grimy deck.
It’s better, I guess, than being landlocked,
But at night, under the concealing cloak of moon and stars,
Dreams flicker through my mind—vibrant, warm, and free—
Clandestine dalliances with a life I’ve never known.
Because I’m here, with my feet planted
Unyieldingly on the rocking, heaving hull
Of a boat amid a tumultuous sea,
But I’ve always yearned to fly.

Sometimes, I feel like maybe I should
Reveal all of this to you. After all, you’ve shared with me
The languid, graceful dancing of oak leaves in gentle zephyrs,
And the sweet, lilting cadences of robins perched
Proudly upon their branches, but the sky is still dark
And the clouds still arch down towards the sea—grey and heavy
With an ineffable weight for which I have no name—
And the rain is still pouring, running like tears down
Muted aluminium in clear, crystalline rivulets.

Sometimes, I open my mouth to tell you
About the black-tar water and the way the world is always tilting—
First to the right and then to the left—never staying upright,
And I can taste the words on my tongue, bitter and acrid,
Like an apple plucked too soon from the tree.
And then you’ll lean forward a bit and grin,
Lopsided and expectant, because the sea, the boat, the waves—
They’re all right there. Hanging suspended between us
In colours you can’t quite see. And I almost let them
Tumble from the spaces between my ribs in
Jumbled, jagged edges, but then I look at you—
Really look—at your pine-green eyes and sun-gold hair,
And I feel the frigid water curling around my toes,
Crawling up and grasping for my ankles, and
I know that somewhere deep in the keel,
There’s a hole. A place where the rust has dug its
Greedy, parasitic fingers in too deep
And now I’m
Sinking,
Sinking,
Sinking.
And you never learned to swim.


Ceto: Greek sea goddess heavily associated with sea monsters