Here, and Gone by L.A. Sklba


Dreamt of a shark infested lake last night,
the lake we went in all the time.
And in the dream, people still swam.
Only this time, they got bit.
We didn’t go in that day.

I take a shower and forget for a moment. My feet are touching ceramic tub. The drain is clogged. Water pools up to my ankles. I tip my head back, forget for a moment, eyes closed, that the brown couch from my childhood home is waiting on the other side of the too-thin curtain and the old wooden door. You can’t see these things with your eyes closed.

Only feel the pooling, the wading, the water.
The metallic rain blurring reality.
The sharks gnawing closer now.
The metallic rain, the sharks,
swallow me whole.

I forget for a moment
that I am not gone,
only gone back
to swim one last time.

L.A. Sklba is a writer currently living and working from Colorado. Her poetry is either published in or forthcoming from Eco Theo Review and Zoidspace Zine.