By Tijah Bolton-Akpan

I think of water as something deep:

Dark innards of the ocean’s belly
Well that buries the curious bucket
Spilled drink
Soaking into one’s underpants
Self-willed gulp
Transporting prescription pills to routine grave

Or something wide:

Marshy acres around plodding feet
Mangrove delta of marooned dreams
Spray of saliva between lewd jokes
Of the molue salesman
Danger of slippery floor tiles
Beneath hurrying heels
Crests and troughs of boundlessness
Atlantic of fearsome vastness
Around the tiny dot of poetry’s lifebuoy

Or something long:

Meandering story of the river’s course
Without forever ever after
Winding journey of the cycle
Between rain and sun, earth and sky
Sudden downpour in the dry season
Tale between life and death

I think of water as everything in-between:

Music of waves
Clouding windscreen
Amniotic fluid
Beauty of rain
Wet dreams
Violent floods
Time locked in ice
Tears in the dark
A baby’s gargle
Cool drink on a thirsty soul…

Water as life

Last offices: the final bath.

© Tijah Bolton-Akpan (07/07/19)

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