MIRANDA DONOVAN
AQUEDUCT OF MEMORY at 3, i swim alongside the sting ray shadows in the headlights, splashing in and out of my mother’s grasp as she drives. at 10, i wade through my holding patterns to the rhythm of fear, crawling into a billboard flashing an amber alert at midnight. at 13, i become a cult leader, reaching as far beach town, delaware. i surrender my following in an ihop parking lot, hands raised. at 15, i am a cornerstore fl ating at sea, diet coke plastic in my aisled bowels, neon orange lapping at star ink dew. a carp fl ps through the front doors. at 17, i peel my red eyes back to see the moon as i drive over the bay bridge, crimson x’s blinking in the rearview mirror, rain fl ck blur. at 19, i whisper snakehead in my dreams. i am completely alone, or so i think. i wake up in different bogs, lily pads rooting in my lungs, moss soaked. at 21, i convulse with swarms of fi eflies. i d ownproof my skull, the cavities already waterlogged. i lie green in tide pools and crawl with ghost crabs.
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