A Translation of My Body

At the beach, I normally don’t go
past neck deep. If I can’t search

the ground with my feet then
I’ll start swallowing water

before it swallows me. Under
the ocean is a canopy of hands

grabbing at what it thinks is air,
inadvertently making fists.

Have you noticed how
we refer to water as a body

then write laws
on how to govern it?

I should rewrite my body.
I should give myself a nose

this time, replace my bones
with something that floats.

In a translation of my body,
floating is all that matters.

Read more from Issue No. 27 or share on Twitter.