subaqueous
By Victoria Romero
This piece was featured in our winter show, A Gathering of Poets and Writers, 2022.
for the very first time in my entire life
I am floating
floating upon this crystalline pool
I find myself coming back to
why does it keep following me?
whatever I do, I can’t seem to leave this pool
even after my tears are shed ‘til there is no more
and my home is gone, a million miles away
I find myself submerged in these chlorine-filled waters
you know, it almost feels unreal
floating here
the past occasions I’ve visited the rocky pool
I step inside and immediately sink
I sink
I fall
fall into the water’s concrete depths
though it hurts to open my eyes I know my
hair is whisking itself to and fro
kept in motion by the bubbles
as if it is the long, straggling tentacles
of a bulbous jellyfish
this jellyfish continues to sink
as its tentacles continue to flow behind
it swims, further and further
the natural light of the sun fades with each inch
darkness
emptiness
the jellyfish isn’t sure she likes it
until her own heart, almost miraculously, begins to glow
emanating a soft, warm orangey-pink hue
contrasting against the cool dark tones of the deep sea
she cups her hands around the glow as she sinks further
this happens every time I go to the pool
such a small, confined area transforming at this moment
with bustling bunches of children splashing their little arms
and the never-ending, gleaming depths of the sea
and yet
this does not seem to be happening right now
instead of living in a world where I only seem to fall
I now live between two worlds: the land and the ocean
as my still body remains suspended
I close my eyes
the water lapping at my ears
the sounds of my parents’ laughter
and a muffled, silent peace
Subaqueous
is my existence
by dying to learn how to live
I’m no longer living just to die
I exist between these two worlds
these dimensions of land and sea
for home is a fallacy, isn’t it?
here, afloat is where I seek to be
for the very first time in my entire life
I am floating