in Puget Sound

Wince into some corner

of your mind as you walk,

dragged along

by will,

by love for your daughter

who has found winter

in the water,

found a way

to move forward

and through.

Strip down

to barely clad,

body curving

every direction over stones,

the shoreline of your skins,

your mothers’ mothers’ blood

pulsing ancient tides

against spring wind.

Walk with purpose,

you are told,

no hesitation.

Pour your toes into the Sound.

Wade into the icy cold,

into liquid salt.

Notice water crawling

your inches and forget

all the words that name

your parts.

Silence the monologue

cataloguing your discomforts.

Gather the reins

of your ragged gasps.

Gently pull into quiet breath.

Hold up your hands,

trembling supplicant,

above the surface,

like those birds on piers

spreading wings

to any thread of sun.

Open and close

your fingers like pumps,

like hearts.

Press palms together

against lips’ silent syllables.

Catch hot prayers,

animal gasps and shudders,

death’s promised rattle

not yet death.

Waves lick your clavicle.

Calm cold seeps into limbs,

follows blood and lymph

into deep caverns.

Don’t fight it.

Notice small waves’ texture.

Notice a lone seal’s distant head skim

and plunge,

surface there

now there

now gone.

Turn to your grown daughter

who brought you here,

who stares out past

the farthest horizon.

Look for it.

for Sage