Sea Anemone

All mouth. This

has always been my problem—

body named for an earthy flower,

rooted foot in the coral bed.

Look below the surface, you can see

how fear began to live with me—

a hundred fish turning suddenly

as though a single silver flank had heaved.

This is what happens when touch

stings. I spend my nights

holding fury and spit. Somewhere above

air is free, there’s the pull of moon’s gold

lip, there’s a smirk that grows

until it swallows you whole.

I wish I could accept

what has passed through me—

a rush of cooler water

stirred by rays, dust sloughed

from a shark’s fin. I wasn’t made to walk

away. I am the creature that stands

and sings into the miles of water—

Say you can hear my raw throat,

salt tongue, my heartless bell.