By Emilee Petersmark

I'm thinking myself big

and open

like water--

I'm thinking my sky

filled with shimering rings of light,

my innards with bubbles--

I'm thinking anxiety

has fins and a tail,

slippery to the touch

and filled with nervous energy.

I'm thinking my head

to be made of

dark depth,

full of flighty, distant thoughts--

swallowing the sun at night,

my heavy body harboring it

until the morning.

I'm thinking my fingers

soft and cold,

my nails tipped in white foam--

carefully carressing the shore

and rippling the sand,

wiping away the scattered footprints

with a rolling sweep of my palm.

I'm thinking myself calm

and quiet

like the sleeping sea,

my world moving in slow-motion,

full of nothing but

whispered dreams

and

breathy sighs...