Poetry by Katherine Schmidt

Susanne Nilsson CC




In the dark of the ocean

Mother breathes. Her gills expand and contract. She holds me to her chest, a smother. Somewhere, in a different part of the ocean, other oysters gather. They rest. They sigh. Mother whispers to me that she has years and years of experience turning invasive objects into something valuable. I wonder which I am. Somewhere, in a different part of the ocean, there is a different daughter, a different mother ripping open her skull to reveal two nerve cords, three pairs of ganglia. I marvel at her lack of a central nervous system, and wonder if I shouldn’t have one, too. I wonder how survival happens in darkness, even as I survive. Isn’t it silly how the more you think about breathing, the harder it gets? Mother holds me tighter to her chest, a strangle. The other oysters call it love. Time passes. Mother whispers to me, and the ripples from her words caress my cheek. You know I won’t be around forever, she confesses. The words rise towards the surface like a prayer.

​


Katherine Schmidt is published in Gone Lawn, Puerto del Sol, Pithead Chapel, and elsewhere. She is the Editor-in-Chief of Spark to Flame and lives in Washington, D.C. Find her at katherineschmidt.com


​
Anti-Heroin Chic is a sponsored project of Indolent Arts, a 501(c)(3) nonprofit fiscal sponsor. Please consider making a one-time tax-deductible donation.

Donate