VESSEL

Lesmosyne runs happily toward the shore. She’s always cold, except in water.

She shouldn’t be here, but she’s glad she is. She has a heart, presence, the taste of sugary fruit in her mouth.

She swims with the woman who birthed this body. When alone, she prefers to float on her back, her arms and legs spread out, gazing at the flesh-pink sky. Her parents always tell her not to stray too deep. Even near the shore, she’s hard to keep track of, her small form camouflaged by rushing waves, her limbs easily confused for driftwood. She never listens.