I sit combing someone’s hair. I suspect she is my child. Her hair keeps growing like seaweed and I keep combing it. I am yammering about to a witch or a ghost behind me. The ocean is in my ears. The constant movement of it. I should be with it. I daydream as I comb, of being with the ocean– of not being in a constant state of combing. I lift my head to tilt it away from the acknowledgement of the ghost or the witch, or even my daughter. My ears begin to leak and then gush ocean. I can’t find my breath but I am smiling. I am in my own aquarium now. I am a beautiful sea creature.
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