by Mary Alexandra Agner
You think I cry because I'm trapped,
because my second skin is scored
by stinging sand and your rough hands.
That may be true.
My swallowed tears plunge me in sea-salt memory
azure winged and free. And in my landlocked misery
I have more joy than you take from my body.
Mary Alexandra Agner writes of dead women, telescopes, and secrets. She can be found online at http://www.pantoum.org.