Ariel Gordon

Nine months: what you may be concerned about

I have become road-mapped inscribed

the scars I imagined when out of my element a half-life ago

and trailing tentacles of jellyfish made for bursts of electricity

unseen wriggling sawteeth of pain

now blooming on my pot-holed pot-belly

and like a snorkeller gone too far from land

sunk too low for the bass call and response

of ragged breaths through a plastic reed

I am bitten blown-cheeked all ballast as you ascend

through saline depths your depth chart burned onto my belly

the skin pebbling

as you struggle to beach us both

I have become ham-hocked 

fat-ankled and groggy

my legs tree-trunks not slimmed and turned

but driftwood 

blasted and bloated

that seeps water when squeezed

making me a creature not of water nor of land

bobbing sloshing bleating 

for shore

I have become colonized a teeming type

that flushes infection

that flushes all day all night long

you junk and wreck me into another jurisdiction

turning me into a displaced person

even as you find finger and footholds in my cargo hold

and climb the ropy lumps of my organs

the slave's collar of my cervix

now the only thing between you

and the light

I wonder did you know 

I would be 

this kind of host