The first glimpse feels like flying,
Mask breaking water,
Fins at the ready,
I am afraid of heights.
(Absolutely no fins on the boat)
Two rusty smokestacks rise upward.
Set at absurd angles,
They belie her.
(Hold your mask and jump)
Beneath, shrouded, ancient,
Four hundred feet of sagging metal
Reaching downward into blackness.
(Knees straight, bend at the hip)
I look down and I learn that I am flying.
I gasp and the sea dives down my throat.
I am dry.
(We all spent nine months in the water)
There is a middle.
There is a deep, deep blue.
It is sinking toward forever.
Who am I?
The volcano locked inside the mountain
The ship set to burn and abandoned to the sea
I am she