Does She Even Have A Brain?

By Belyn Thompson

Her mind lays in pools of shallow water hoping the waves will set her free

Her body still rooted into the couch of a house too broken to be mended 

I think if you look close enough you can see her breathe

Her skin is made of rough materials that have endured thrashing currents 

Her insides made of an hourglass of thin sand, worn from waves beating against the shore

Voices crawl into her chest releasing water –  water that takes her under miles of ocean

Hiding in the depth of blackness that fills the sea as it does her soul

A type of dull peacefulness to hear nothing but the gurgling of water 

Her eyes beat back at her as she tells herself to swallow the ocean whole 

Lines repeating in her head like a hymn that just found a new born Christian

“I want nothing.” “I feel nothing.” “I am nothing.” 

They must ask if she even has a brain

Or maybe my brain is so advanced that I know better when to talk. But what if I did feel the breeze of changing winds? What if  I could pull out of the covering ocean? Could there be a possibility that I want something more? They would stare at me and say I should have kept the ocean locked away. That my hardened exterior should have calloused my insides.