I’m laying under a pier, sandy fingers pressing inside of me. Scanning for a portal leading to a
new dimension. Replaying my actions as song, I’m deep inside of myself.
Sad waters slowly creep up the shoreline, tickling my cheeks, puckering my skin. Nipples alert,
teeth clenched. Eyes fluttering, my body sinks deep into the sand, consumed by its grit.
Listening to my brain trickle water through my ears.
One lone sand particle pushes the portal open.
Warm and soft now, I’m inside you inside of me inside myself.
I once took a nap in the backseat of Hyundai Sonata while my friend drove through the desert. I
was sweating and dreaming of a man in a boat. Singing to me. Asking me why I move down the
sidewalk the way I move down the sidewalk.
My pores contract and expand as I consume myself. I shaved my legs the other night. I wanted
you to rub my legs and slide yourself into me. Any part of yourself inside of me, as long
someone watches. Can someone watch?
Submerged in the sand, my senses release. Completely, utterly inside myself, I feel myself upon
myself. Walking through the forest at dusk. Darkness presses down upon the light, settling firmly
in the space between the pines. My fear projects upon the purity of liminal space. This can’t be
me.
The man wants to know why I woke up this morning.
I’m buried deep in the sand, in the forest at dusk. I smell a wave coming.
Fingers pull quickly out of myself. Blood under my finger nails, I crumble.
An oiled stone serves me no purpose tonight.
By: Jayna Anderson
