To Water
By Tanya Nikiforova
She was from the bleach sprayed walls
of her father’s insane asylum.
From his rot soaked pillow,
from his spinal fluid pooling on the floor.
Drip drop drip drop drip drop,
the metronome of her childhood.
She felt lithium itch her bones,
was a livewire called to water
and fled the floodplains
before it sparked her descent.
She placed oceans, degrees, meditations
between them. Spun herself
in cashmere and gold. Used
future tense with the therapists,
whose tongues produced
their own kind of metronome.
She grew tall and taut,
coiled like spring, impressed by her solidity.
Until the tears dissolved her. One bead
bonding another, coalescing in mass.
Rivulets begetting brooks begetting streams
begetting rivers.
While she slept
drip drop drip drop drip
the current carried her home.
Tanya Nikiforova (she/her) writes fiction and poetry inspired by nature, magic, and our fragile existence. She is a first-generation immigrant from Belarus and lives in the U.S. with her family, where she grows tomatoes, practices medicine, and wonders about the unknown. She was selected for the Short Story Award for New Writers shortlist by The Masters Review and has been published in Fractured Literary Anthology Volume 4 and Pinhole Poetry.
Artwork Source: “Automatic Dripping (3),” Ellsworth Kelly. From the Public Domain.
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