oysters & ceviche

By Mia Dowdell

i am suffocated in it.

my throat inflates, a starchy desperate
lifevest at the sound of sharp
linen slacks flicking political 
venom off their tongues. cellar Burgundy 
sends mildewed arrows through the cartilage of
my blunt nose. i guess the cup of Tide and my 
bathroom sink weren’t enough to 
wash the grisliness from my hollowed-out
pocket. it was never
this difficult to swallow. just two 
days ago, i laid in an ocean. i let the 
shy babbling of the living room heater 
cradle my shoulders, let it inhale  
peripheral noise. now, i am newborn
sea kelp tugged in every direction and
nailed to hardwood floor. cyclical fading, tarring
of the sky does little to dim the sour of 
these chandelier lights. circling of 
shadowed sharks; raw red donor dollars their
highlighted entrée. and there they are, 
my parents, making their twentieth act 
as their circus seals.

Process

I was inspired in part by what many people recognize and have likely encountered as feelings of isolation. Especially coming back from the pandemic, many of us can suddenly feel strange and uncomfortable in public spaces, even when this had never been the case before. While this was not the motivation for the poem, I did like to play with the idea of someone being placed in a situation where they know they should feel at home and excited to meet new people or have access to luxury, but instead can’t shake the feeling of not belonging.