Why Am I Drowning [How Am I Supposed to Tread Water]

In a boat

in the middle of an ocean,

I have no oars,

no motor

or rudder.

Currents used to pull me to shore,

sand summoning my feet home,

until tide pools cut my hull,

blood tainted the water,

tempting sharks.

I’m lost at sea.

Skin burnt, lips cracked,

and water, water everywhere

yet not a drop to drink.

I’d capsize and swim to land

if I wasn’t so afraid of drowning.

Besides,

an angry sun

blinds my path,

and the moon is hiding.

Salinity begets osmosis

draining every last cell,

every life form—

food for fish.

Fire is not meant to be water-bound,

waterboarded or waterlogged.

Still…

I’m lost, alone-

without propulsion,

spyglass, or compass-

in the middle of an ocean,

in a boat.

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