Moving Stillness

She watches the trains going by through wire mesh on the windows of the wooden shack on the edge of campus.
She sees the brick façade of her high school
bathed in a warm golden light.

She has the chill of the sea on her skin.
It pulses though the blood of her arteries
And the ocean films
Her green eyes.
Green dark murk where the shadows dance.
What you wrote in your journal had your teacher so worried.
We had to put you somewhere where no on
Could bother you.
Green metal rust.
The air drops from fiery peaks
to cold canyons like the depths of the Atlantic.
The pressure of the cold waters is too many atmospheres
not to crush a solid surface.
And a bathysphere
Is rounded to equalize the surface pressure of the
salty swell.
Cold salt lick drip.
Concrete pilings holding a
dark-stained expressway under the dim sea.
The ruined cityscape beneath the lunar sky of the Atlantic.
Loraine feels the frigid pressure
press her from all directions.
The chill seeps into her bones and she looks out at the desolate
remains of the world through small windows which invite little light.
Far above her is Uncle William (her sole guardian).
Far above her and unable to reach her
Far above her and unable to touch her,
Unwilling to save her,
Unconcerned of what his deeds have done to her inner vision.
She laughs at the memory of three months prior
When she found a butter knife on the wrist only spreads your sweat.
Salt water from the pores of her skin spilled
and she knew her ancestors came from the sea.
Round yourself to a perfect sphere:
Tuck in your head
and cross your arms to your chest
and your knees to your stomach.
It is the only way to drop down the depths of ocean
to the wreckage of the urban landscape in the shadows
of the deep waters.
It is better to explore this city
when it’s people can no longer see you.
When eels nest in their eyeless sockets.
When the breeze is a cool wet slipstream.
When noises are muted by damp liquid dreamtime.

Loraine wonders if she should never have said
Something was wrong.
Insane Loraine.
Even the other students sentenced to this shack
know her nickname.
Head down, arms over your chest, knees to you stomach.
Even in the shade of her bedroom closet,
this position did little to protect her from the pressures from without.

Train cars ply past the windows through the sunless reaches
beyond the city.
The trains rumble on iron rails gone green.
The trains traverse the ocean floor to find a far place
to unload the weight of their wares.
The engineers light their way with probing strands of spun gold.
To be one of them…
To be flying from here….
To light a way through the depths of submerged salty mountains…
To cut through the rocky dank canyons and light the landscape
with a warm golden light.