swamp angel, not even a little brackish By Colette Chien

The Rising Phoenix Review

swamp angel, not even a little brackish

i am not a salted girl. pour on me gallons of fresh water / i’ll soak
heavy & shake like a fed dog. i let my skin hang loose most times.

i do things everybody does but alkaline. imagine being ready to
swallow pitcher plants & avoiding saline sponges overrun, while

texting mom. i am what your dry mouth thinks of in the morning.
bitter, sweet / the patches of shimmer on any lake wished they’d

float as easy as me / the egret call wakes them when the sky turns
from grey to a white, she sounds like she’s crying when she belts

her morning bleats, keeps ‘em tired & sinking deep. i try to live
without a vein of toxicity / you know / all i need is electrolytes

from quenched thirst (& a light belief in karma), to keep on.

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