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Love makes me seasick,

and I lurch along on land

as I walk home,

my heart limping behind me.

 

Home is a pit.

Home is a prison.

Every pot and knife, a fishhook

embedding me deeper here.

 

Once, I was free;

once, I swam sleek.

But a bad man stole my skin,

and the sea bled from my eyes.

 

I see through dry sockets,

and I wash with chapped hands,

trying to stem the unending tide

of kelpy rags and shell-white dishes.

 

Love is a net,

but I am a clever fish;

I gnaw at the knots daily,

spurred by the sound of the chopping block.



Jeana Jorgensen earned her PhD in folklore at Indiana University. She has taught at universities around the Midwest as well as at the University of California, Berkeley. Her poetry has appeared in Stone Telling and Mirror Dance. She blogs at Patheos and is constantly on Twitter.
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8 Apr 2024

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