by Lila Cutter

I wish I could breathe underwater
     in the Pine River grass tangling
with shoulder tendons

     wrapping around ribs in loving coax
gills vents all gape below surface tension
    I’m agape remembering my body

womb-holding water-born
     a woman fifty-five percent floating
in my own skin

     homed in this globe gliding backstroke
meaning my babies if had will be handed
     a melted planet a drowned seed

I’ve lost my mer
     to relentless river current
scattered wishes like ashes

     slicking surface
to grow new lily roots palm-opened
     in split prayer.