Flag Abuse

Beneath my skin is the tingle of sea touching sand, the ebb and flow of moon tide, the ricocheting cries of seagulls, the thud as waves hit the boat. I dangle my feet close to the wet stern; I leap onto sloping sand; I follow my friend to hot cobblestones of an ancient street; the smell of fish and lime entice me to a sun baked porch and the smoke of fire blazing beneath the banana leaf-wrapped salmon. Beneath my skin is happiness wanting to bubble up like champagne and sadness coating the waters like an oil slick, dangerous, unpredictable. Beneath my skin is a dark cave lit only by a torch held high in the hand of a medicine woman, her hair blown wild, her eyes full of wisdom, the quaking of my insides. Beneath my skin is a universe of stars expanding and spider webs patching the wound. Beneath my skin are the stories that spill from my soul across the arch of time and make me whole.