I saved myself from drowning,
I climbed onto the shore and shook the sand from my hair.
Weeks later, still standing here,
I’m wet from it.

My fear is poised above me,
holding her bucket.
The water lapping the sides,
Bitterly cold and hard to contain.

The droplets fall around me but turn to vapour before their splash can break the silence.
Far in the distance the crackle and the hiss of him approaches.

There’s an aching flame in my belly now,
low and deeper than I’m used to.
Steam rises from my skin.

The fear waits with her bucket,
Her knuckles white and straining from the weight of it.


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