Waves
True little waves, from high above in a window seat
so few of you have enough of yourselves
to fold over onto, forming a dress
you wear out instantly, the most part
of you is continuous skin with its own living
texture curving over the bottom, a bone, though often enough
on land it appears you’re falling
all over yourselves to be tallest, each of you
prim threat of drowning should I contemplate
a swim, the window seat is just a way of taking in
the danger all at once, breathing the ultimatum in
and trying to breathe it back out at decent intervals.
by Jana Prikryl
from No Matter
Penguin Books, 2019