I’m a Selkie searching for the skin
you buried to bind my body to yours.
Or maybe you were the Selkie and I’ve
forgotten the tragedy of digging in the knife,
tightly twisting until your epidermis dislodged,
complete; but I can’t really remember and now
when I dream, your mouth opens to reveal
a gaping maw; I think you look like a heron,
then imagine I’m a fish, a red herring ready
to be gobbled into you, to swim in your belly,
digested. When I listen to your bird calls,
my ears are clogged with so much
longing that it chokes me like seawater
as I’m drowning in you, trying to break
the surface. When you call my name, I’m fifty
fathoms down, sifting through sand, blowing
bubbles, treasure hunting, trying to find my skin.
This post is brought to you by
The Odds Against a Starry Cosmos
by Abby Bland
The Odds Against a Starry Cosmos explores the intimacy of human relationship and growth against the backdrop of the natural world, moving through moments of grace, brokenness, and wonder.
About the Author
Bailey Merlin holds an MFA in fiction from Butler University. Her work has been published by Into the Void, Dime Show Review, Crack the Spine and The Indianapolis Review, amongst others. She recently released the spoken word/jazz hybrid album Bug Eyes with Shore Side Records. She lives and writes in Boston, MA.
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