Posts in Maya Ribault
A Channel Swim

At high tide in April, we caught the sun’s sleeve 
after school in our underwear—how the water 
chilled our brains into a mushy orchard, numbing 
our toes and fingers purple-yellow like Mardi-Gras 
confetti. I clutched our mother’s neck but then
so did my brother. That’s why we weren’t allowed
to watch Jaws. You shouldn’t watch it either. 

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