some of us live holding our breath.
blood roaring in our ears, lungs stretched to bursting,
counting the seconds with our heartbeats
for day, months, years,
before we’re forced to exhale.
before the harsh waters of life come
rushing into our lungs,
drowning us.

some of us build scuba-gear.
smiling at our ingenuity
consciously,
really smiling at our self-delusion
made reality
subconsciously.
the self-delusion being that the ocean is tameable, handleable,
graspable.. by Man’s hands.
and that the waters of life really aren’t that harsh afterall.
too late do we realize that
sharks swim behind us, that
the air in our tanks is depleting, and that
eventually water rusts all things,
including scuba-gear.

and some of us learn how to breath underwater.
but it’s not easy.
Man is a land animal.

the stories were true,
the great flood is real.
it came, and it stayed.
noah’s ark is the myth.

Archaeology

by Eliza Victoria

A mother had already been handed four hollow pieces of her child’s rib cage, and days after the burial, she was seen walking around the clearing, at one point bending down to pick up a pebble. The place was sacred to her. Every piece of the place was sacred to her. During a storm, as she held on to the walls of her house, the wind gave her an idea and now she respected every open ground. Who knew how strong a wind could blow? Who could foresee the extent of a body’s transformation? She put an end to the habit of kicking at loose soil whenever she was angry or pensive. Her face took on the shape and lines of a tourist lost in an unknown land, peering at eyes, searching, searching. This could be my child, she whispered to herself, and held the pebble close to her chest.