it’s scarier if I can’t drown

it’s scarier if I can’t drown

by Laura Mota-Juang

you find me soaking the bathroom floor.
tiles wet with a mix of freshwater and eye-brine.
what is it? what happened here?
you twist the bath’s handle close.

behind hands covered by barnacles,
I hide my monstrous face.
I can’t stand the possibility of
meeting with a reflection of myself.
you didn’t even undress?

you take these hands out of my face,
I keep my eyes shut. can you feel this?
you guide my hands through soft fabric
you’re still wearing silk. come now,
we’ll fix this.

you hold me
make my enormous tentacles feel compact.
you sit me back in the tub.
can you open your eyes now?
my head shakes–
no.

I can’t see you 
mercifully acting as if I were bearable.
I keep my eyes shut through the smell of lavender,
through the sound of you mopping the floor,
through your sponge rubbing clean 
the crags and nodules of my every crustacean.

I wake to my eyes shut.
in bed, I’m afraid once I see
you’ll be gone and I’ll find no silk,
but broken shells.