Arrival – River Elizabeth Hall
Sphere of saltwater, jigline tethered to an amorphous mother I knew, but did not know. Tidewaters ticking on a moonclock, intervals of months in seconds. I, subtle, unglimpsed— a flicker of movement, new skin inside another’s. Drawn up from the bedrock of bone. Surge and pull, pull and surge inclined to a horizon I had no way to see from within the shushing maelstrom of the maternal. All un-houred and seamed tight pressed above the oculus until a diadem of flesh warped my skull then collared my throat. I wore my mother one last time, one foot socked briefly in the tear, then dashed wet and slipping into co-existence. A singular plummet to meet the first stranger’s gloved hands thrown into the light beyond the tilt of original darkness.
River Elizabeth Hall (she/her) is an educator, poet and naturalist. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Bear Review, Moist Poetry Journal, Pontoon Poetry, Main Street Rag, Nimrod and Tinderbox among others. More about her poetry and other offerings can be found at www.RiverElizabethHall.com
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