Salt   water   stung

on the way

down;

she raised cupped palms to

waiting   lips–   fingertips

turned like ripened plums,

reckless   flesh   rippled

by salt and

s o r r o w

and sun.

The Girl who drank the sea

b e c o m e s

The Woman who

swallows

before she speaks;

who squints when

she looks up,

who shields herself with thick,

time-freckled skin,

waits   for   low   tide,

for nightfall, to count

s t a r s

as they crash–

who choses carefully

for which comets

she   will   open

her mouth

but still smiles

knowing   they   will   burn

on the way

down.

Inspiration:

“A certain light was beginning to dawn within her – the light which, showing the way, forbids it.”  Kate Chopin, The Awakening (1899)