reckoning

Into the wayward wishing wells

I tumble.

Up goes the liquified aspirations of everything.

In retaliation,

My past surrounds me eagerly.

Into my slumber I drift, pacing breaths.

If I cannot control tempests I'll settle for my own goosebumped arms.

I enjoy the wrestling feeling of oil and water.

The remaining echoes of where I entered do not falter as my mind does.

Claws embedded into flesh

Tree trunks resisting sparks

When it would always be easier to shut my eyes and sink.

Floating on cushions of boiling water, I notice my own shut clams.

Kilos and kilos of oil oozing outward;

My own fault for choosing clams over suitcases.

Their lightness is confusing as I rock

I am not seeking food for my other half.

The atlantic gifts me solitude

And I reckon for the whereabouts of my companions.

Then realise, they're dried on the washing line,

Not waiting for me to realise I'm the odd little otter

Left on an iceburg for chasing butterflies when I shouldn't have.