is more pallid when wet, while hovering over the surface of a river,
when circulation slows to a crawl – bare feet, glass skin, numb mauve toes and levitating minnows
circling my ankles. show me the symmetry in the blue of their schools and my single stalk of shin.
show me how the tide can lift these oval breasts, weighted, graying like rocks; how this wind
can re-alight them, tint them champagne again beneath an unconditional moon.
for death is a moment of time passing along with others, a moment
where a body is no more than silt, at best. Miss Edna, Miss V.,
what became of you could become of me, otters swinging beneath a deluged torso
from which beavers may salvage limbs, fingers, toes.
on the beach lies a trail of papers i wish to reinvent themselves as trees. may the ink sweeten to sap,
my paroxysms burst into peculiar red leaves,
so when I join you, finally, amongst the Ouse, the sea, the current coursing perpetually
beneath a single glowing stone, my words will fall from their pin-thin branches
to lie on the groove of the green waters, stuck
in a reflection of the heavens forever.
Sara Flemington completed her Honors BA in English and Creative Writing from York University, where she received the Sorbara Award for Creative Writing, the Judith Eve Gewurtz Memorial Prize for Poetry, and an honorable mention for the President’s Prize for Short Fiction. She has featured at numerous reading series around Toronto, including CIUT Radio, and her work is forthcoming in Paper Darts. Sara lives in Toronto.