I wade out into the water, 
         downing salt like medicine, 
         drowning out a daughter as
I push by dancing kelp.
Painlessly swimming in a time 
where I am outside myself. 
Where we are     no longer one. 
I’m wistful, lulling,     complying 
because my body is an animal they must control 
by leash and     whip. 
Owned by grief and men
         and exhaust. 
The water- stronger     older than I, 
is tracing me like an etching on a cave wall, 
teaching me to let go of myself 
and grab     hold of        my child. 
The air is cold but the water is colder and 
I feel I’m reclaiming something that I     lost. 
I stand on the lip of the fragrant, 
         violated ocean, 
contemplating the     ruination 
of every     woman who has come 
before me.