Read Poem: RIP TIDE, by Marcela del Sol

Laying in the middle of the floor
five centimetres away from a window and its sunshine
that swirls beautifully on a dusty sill
I am observant yet stagnant
petrified
for I know what I’ll do of me
this solitude has decided to swim to the darkest depth of my red seas
in a vertical jump from my arms’ fleshy pontoon.
Misery, this loneliness
omnipresent in my heart
shadowing my mornings
engulfing all lovers’ names until it pierces them with shards
as precise and infallible as this shape of one on these worn out sheets
and my
sheer
despair.
I shoot my left shoe against the glass
I am magnanimous at breaking things and at trying to repair them
later
or at begging for their return, immediately
like those repetitive stories of entwined limbs and unmade love at three a.m.
I can satisfy and fix except
the mess I am.
Strident, the print of my sole
through the glass and this stubborn memory
I hush the little girl inside
although no one wakes up in this place of left over people
where the noises used to be of glasses of honey milk handed to us by
loving
mothers
who carried nothing inside their bras but sombre speckles of a heart
that was once vibrant like butterflies
copulating next to a summer fan.
The sound of death only unnerves the brave
I know its many names as I do mine
the road ahead seems too expansive to go hopping
with one foot nude against the rough
to moist the soil I summon swordfish
to dig and dive its way to my sangria waters
until it floods onto my foot
drowning
the reconsideration
of my birthright resolution.