Swimming Between

Red Flags

By Maisie Chilton

 

I am standing in the ocean

watching a wave rise up

above me.

The space within my ribcage

Te kore,

tense

in anticipation

of the grand finale.

It’s the encore, and

you already cheered so much

you can’t scream any louder.

 

Te kore.

The void.

But I can feel it now.

I watch, and watch.

The body stiffens.

I am preparing for the descent

the spiral downwards

the deafening silence

the absolute

inability to breathe.

Emancipation.

Just put your head under.

 

I can swallow very big pills

without water, and

I am rising to swallow them

each morning

and at night,

red waves.

Gulping down mouthfuls

of red wine and half-pills

my half-truths

I am sleeping with

a red rock in my bed

I put it on my chest at night

so maybe I’ll feel crushed.

 

There is blood in the water now.

 

You say you see

a sadness in my eyes

that others miss, and

I remember standing in the sea, and

wonder if you could have seen it then.

or when I drove through the night screaming

to return home with hushed smile

 

You remind me of the time I stole

1000 origami cranes

strung together by

a needle through the abdomen.

tiny birds of hope,

destined for those in need.

But, hope is just a hook

for gaping mouth

the cranes died scattered

across my teenage bedroom floor.

we don’t belong in the air

we belong in the sea.

 

Now I’m swimming between red flags.

 

I’m an expert at this;

(drowning).

I’ve been here before

when I was young

swallowed up by lake Wakatipu.

I know how this ends, but

not why I haven’t turned to run,

or what happens if I tell you

that knowing you

feels a little like drowning.

 

waves.

your arms afloat

the rise and fall

of my ribcage.

 

 

The wave rises up,

           and up

 

You say;

“don’t hold your breath.