GRIEF Poem: The Sinking, by Aimee Hardy

My mother talked about
Oceans as if they were ponds.
She longed for that underwater weight,
An obstinate reminder of
The body free
Of gravity and expectation. Suspended
Right here
Right now
Until black spots clouded into
Nothing.
Dad talked about the ocean when you weren’t around,
Laughed about the time you tried
To sink your bones beneath the waves
With my roots growing deep into your
Belly that never knew soil.
How scared you must have been.
Dad joked about your thumbs,
How instead of green, they contained blue.
You killed every houseplant you owned.
Drowned them until
Their hollow husks rotted in swampy soil.
For your 30th birthday, we knew what you needed.
We drew you a bath so hot and so deep
That you disappeared for weeks
Inside a catacomb of amniotic fluid.
You emerged
Yourself
In the ill-fitting suit that was your skin.
Until dad finally closed the tub.
He said there was a leak
But didn’t specify if the leak was in
The tub
Or in you.

Author: poetryfest

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