Poetry & Prose


reverse baptism, solitary rite.

breath held, skin uncovered.
head first, arched back, eyes closed before
i reached the surface. i think it’s best
to feel weightless when you can.

tasteless water, not bitter, no chemicals—clean,
just like i wanted to be, but neither heat nor soap
can wash away the undesired touches. after all,
blood clots turn into scars, which fade
but never leave.

all i have to hold onto is that nothing lasts here