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From A to
C(ronus)
By Maria Nazos
I will not suck the salt off of your fingers-
At different points, you said.
Ever again. The salinity leaves me
shriveled, white and thirsty, sitting on this calm lens
so careful as not to disturb the waters.
Mustn’t stomp or splash. Now it is I shredding tears and choking on the Ph levels.
I took a step back and I thought I
saw you in there, a tiny glimmer of a reflection sitting
cross-legged on the convex, glittering plane. I charged back in
and ran smash into the pane and into the inverted reflection of
me. If you were sitting across from me on this curve of iris, I
would have cut the silver cord that binds our sternums from here
to here.
Now, the bloody stump dangles severed in my hand.
I never realized I was in a womb.
Maybe you were right about what you said.
But I will not stay in these waters alone, I will cut myself out with a shard of green bottle. I will saw myself in half then in half before I stay floating here. Surely these four shades of me, these exponents, will scatter across the earth, across space, the flattened me will travel across latitude and one of me the longitude and I will hold it and I will knot the frayed end. I will find the intersection, and somewhere down these lines in time our watches will both read noon.
