September 27, 2008

• 01001

  
  
  

   

  
  
   

  I was once contained, heavy with water, soaking up rain and puddles, tide pools, brooks.  I melted snow on my back to drench my thirst.  I rolled as a trickle and absorbed like a sponge: full, billowing, taut but ever-parched. 

  
  

  Before I spilled forth and began to gush, I was cut clean through by phantasmic beams, sun-soaked rays exposed my murky depths, painfully bright, warming my blood, creating light.  Inside I effervesced, percolated.  Beauty bubbled and wafted upwards like vapors -- apparitions and animus, there and then gone.  Surfacing, I hide among liquid to see the illusion. 

  
  

  A figment pulled from the bottom and held up to the light is less than transparent.  It can fade in my webbed fingers. 

  
  

  I sluice forward and swallow it whole.  I muse until it grows again. 

   

   

  © JODI ANDERSON. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  • 8:14 pm
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