Maya Logan. Umbilical

My bones formed under the rocking waves of a shipyard,

smothered under hardening muscle fibers and entangled veins that

pumped blood to brain to eyes ajar,

tissue shaped to receive a distorted sun.

My underdeveloped arms reached out to find the sky,

I pulled my head above the water by the skin of my umbilical cord only 

to realize it was funneling current into my belly button, so

I dug my deformed nails into the lustrous tissue,

I begged and I scraped and I pulled with the spirit circling my heart.

When it snapped under my torn fingers I reached again for safety

but as I dragged myself free to be enveloped by the novel world, 

I emerged under a sweaty layer of expectation 

holding my lips to one another and 

sticking my arms to my bony ribs.

It first seemed a reminder of the water but 

it thickened as the sun shone brighter, 

became heavier and dragged my deformed body down 

as time passed. 

The air singed my misshapen lungs and stung my shrouded skin, 

the little self I had left holding together my bones 

could not withstand the earth's winds.

Homesickness rocked under my tongue,

it was the first thing that was my own.  

I missed the sea.

Maya Logan swam to Montréal from the shores of the Pacific wearing a winter coat, ready to bear the harsh Montréal winters she was forewarned about. You can probably find her studying biology, drawing, or in the ocean.