Square between slate cliffs
and rising water
we draw a line in silt.
We neither cross it
nor wander too far from.
We fill our beach with bones
of gulls and morning glory.
We array these gems
like armies in retreat.
Thunder cracks. Our spines
straighten. Fear unites us.
We raise a tent against
rain but it falls through.
We make our bodies small
to hide, but still it finds us.
The miracle of drowning
is we forget to breathe.
We cling like rats. Our
voices softer than rain
sharp as needles. We
make our bodies small
to hide, but we sink.
Robert Torres is a writer and performer based in Portland, Oregon who has worked with Monkey with a Hat On, Gender Bomb, and Twilight Theater Company, and has been published by Nailed Magazine, 1001 Journal, Spider Web Salon, and others. Their work explores anxiety, delusion, revolution, and the conundrum of having a body whether you like it or not.
