The poisoned waters beneath the sailboat I wish I was

More stories from Abby Wright
January 19, 2021
Poisoned by empty promises and the tears of the willow who hasn’t stopped weeping,
the water is uninhabitable, yet the sailboat is untouched.
I worry the loneliness guts her,
makes her so hollow the cries of her heart echo across
the gravestones of her skeletal soul,
but she’s not me.
She’s not a graveyard of dusty love and salt-stained ashes and ripped T-shirts.
She’s heavy enough to withstand the breakage,
strong enough to repair the holes that I never could,
fast enough to outrun the inevitable ruin.
Because she’s not me.
I wonder if she’s ever seen a willow tree fold into itself the way it did
when it’s rearview world became a reality, and I wonder
if she’s ever heard a cry so loud the stars fled the sky and buried themselves
below the waters of that unforgiving ocean.
If she did, I fear she wouldn’t carry me, for all I want—more than anything—is
to rid myself of the tainted T-shirt and make my home wherever she leads me.
Even if it’s amongst the stars that are scared of the same cries that poisoned the water.
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