salt

by Julia Duerig

god forbid you want somebody to siphon the salt

from your ocean. you exist only to shrink from

the sands and shiver under the unforgiving sky

that holds the sway of your hunger. 

the moon pulls you to worship its light and you

swallow it all. introduces you to the sun. god forbid 

you look for warmth that will sate the roar in your

darkest trenches. something vile whimpers in you. 

swim until you can dig your toes in the sand,

abandon your salt stained skin on the shore like 

the invertebrate creature you are, when they find you 

in the morning you will be cold and helpless. 

and do not dream of ships on the horizon. 

the emptiness cannot be moved. the salt still burns

your eyes and nose and throat. god forbid you drink

from a cup that has not broken. 

Julia is a previously unpublished author who works as a microbiologist. They live in Virginia with their elderly cat and spend most of their free time reading and writing.