At 27

Photo by Eman Genatilan

At 27

Twenty years and I built this ocean,
Deep, dark blue and calm.
I stand here, willing
To pour twenty years more,
But the more I put,
The more I disturb the water,
And beneath, cannot rest the corpses.

One is seven, the other I do not know.
The seven thought she's filth and unacceptable,
So she drowned, cries unheard.
The other did not know
When she started drowning.
Was it when the tornado came,
Or was it on a radiant sunset?

How I wish the fish ate them,
Never to be seen nor remembered.
Oh, how I wish they never drowned,
So I never have to deal with corpses
Polluting my water.
I wish I could take them by the hand,
And plead for Poseidon’s breath.

I'm afraid I can't hide them anymore,
So I gaze into the water to check
If something's coming up to the surface,
But I see no corpse,
Only a face not ready to drown at twenty-seven.