what it feels like to drown
I. it is slow, the cold settles into bones
unused to the weight of water
lodged in socks and coat pockets
you grab my hand, and i think you mean
to drag me back to shore
surely, you will make good on
your promise of patience
II. i am treading water again
bones aching from throwing myself
into the deep end for you at the first call for help
if you stopped breathing
i would drag you to the shoreline
and press my lips to yours
breathing life back into these lungs
i love so much
III. i answered your voice so many times
i was convinced you were a siren
when i found myself alone with the
swells, i called your name
i waved to you on the shoreline
but your tongue was so far down somebody else’s throat
that you didn’t see me as i screamed
IV. you don’t apologize
it’s not in your nature to turn the
blame inwards, refusing to recollect
how you thrashed when the water bit
grasping my arm to stay afloat
i remember
drawing you the constellation
you danced under until the world was nothing
but shimmering lights and a mirror of yourself
distorted in the disco lights
i was nothing
but a shadow you walked out of
V. i tried to drag myself to the beach
but the water swam into my lungs
i couldn’t breathe, but my bluing lips
still formed your name
i will always love the ocean
no matter how many times you, my
rip-current, dragged me out to sea
i may have drowned, but i held
hands with my killer
VI. when i wash up on shore, my
lips parted and hands outstretched,
you wonder what i was reaching for
Ella Lukowiak is a Jersey Shore native, sunrise addict, and word enthusiast. A undergraduate student at the University of South Carolina Honors College pursuing a degree in English, Ella is passionate about storytelling and aspires to one day publish a novel. Her previous publications include theYoungArts 2022 Anthology and Catalogue: Select Works by YoungArts Honorable Mention and Merit Winners, and the USC magazine Garnet and Black. You can find her on instagram @ellalukewriter.
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