It's #tbt! Enjoy this great one from SWWIM Every Day's archives!
Once, my body was the Red Sea, and I was Moses, only Moses was a woman and she screamed into the water, and it split unilaterally. From her midline she pulled with an arm, not a staff, the head of humanity. She cradled the warm, red life with intention—the way a midwife feels for the cliff of fundus. And then the waters closed. There was the salty expanse of sea—they were on it, not in it, and her body was bread. Was Jesus the myth of a woman who softened under the delicious, pink, wet pallet of life, in the milky ocean of saliva? We have drifted the slow evolution to the shore. Where the child faces me before drinking me into herself.
Caroline Plasket's work has been published or is forthcoming in Pleiades, Hobart, Copper Nickel, The Laurel Review, Cherry Tree, The Cortland Review, Atticus Review, Threadcount Magazine, and elsewhere. She was previously a mentee in the AWP Writer to Writer Program.
**We do our best to preserve the integrity of each poem; however, due to programming limitations, some poems may read differently on a mobile phone and in certain browsers. For best viewing, use Chrome on a desktop/laptop.