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Barren

Brooke Burnett

Salt.

All I can taste is salt.


My eyes.

Hairline cracks of crimson.

 

The waves consume me,

Again.


I struggle to breathe.


Not now.

Not this time.


A voice.

My husband.


I don’t want to hear this.


I fight to break through.


I want to tell him to stop.


Trapped.


“Are you okay?”


Like a ship in a whirlpool


Silence.


“I’m fine.”


The waters recede.

Erasing all evidence

Once there before.


Leaving me alone.

Leaving me bare.

Spring, 2019 Issue