by Jamie Gersh
Her hands curl and uncurl like kelp,
as too much water to hold fills her, empty
and full in all the wrong places.
She'll drown like you almost did.
Know it even before the water
begins to rise.
Once you would have held your breath
in fearful sympathy
when camera shot below sea level
(when it surfaced again, you'd have to be reminded to breathe).
Sauteing mushrooms in a pan still feels like hurting you.
You on the other side of the world, too far away
to breathe killer allergen air.
Memory is not your effigy,
and yet I fear the needles in it.