poetry

Instinctive drowning response.

sea water blue sun

Hands press down
flapping like a silly bird,
I can’t stop paddling-
dumb mouth open,
red eyes gawking at the sun.

Panic burns my thighs
but I wonder,
how is hope so heavy
when my lungs are full of foam.

It’s so quiet here,
just a small ripple
in a vast and indifferent undertow.

No one notices
help-
no one sees
please-
no one hears
SOMEONE-
I don’t think
I can save myself.

© Nancy Botta, 2018

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