“Grace”

—New York City, 2015

Sometimes I wish I were swimming

at Kaimana Beach. Splashing in milk

with Kimmy, we dump our bones

and history slithers out: ghoul-like maggots

who have feasted long enough.

Weightless, now, we journey through starlit waves

Ocean night. Warm water rushes past our ears

sheparding fireflies in tiny diving suits

and frogs blowing bubbles on careening lily-pads

that crash like bumper cars as

an old fish, astonished, trundles by

and it is Grace. A way of starting anew.

Our mad-cap Baptism explodes in pinwheels of joyful celebrating and we sink deeper

into the underwater circus.

And now the seahorses’ cha cha

reaches fever pitch, tails kicking high like rainbow helium,

and the moon jumps in all hard and yellow, splintering across the broken coral

on the bottom of the ocean floor into shards of light

that ricochet across Kimmy’s face. Look!

she calls and a hulking ship looms dark across velvet water-air.

On its deck, a dark silhouette. He sings

amazing grace how sweet the sound, and we all sing too:

frogs, fireflies, fish and moon, Kimmy and me.

I once was lost but now am found/

was blind but now I see.

By: Sara Christine.

Do not reproduce, screenshot or copy without my permission.