Born

I want to feel myself
as if I have been created by an ocean,
as if I dragged a limp, boneless body
from the womb of the earth.
I want to cry
on the shoreline
and beat my slick fists
against the grains,
striking hard and with purpose:
to see blood soak
instead of float for the first time.
I want to turn over
on my back
and blind myself
by staring straight into the sun;
the star is just that
and I am no longer under a wet blanket.
I want sand to seal my gills
and my first breath
to build lungs of the dust
kicked up as I struggled
against the tide
carrying a broken wave
out to sea.