I hold it in the palm
of my hand; it’s no more than a gram
but it weighs me down,
its essence in my chest
now below the water line.
The sun is clear and striking
above me, it allures in its warmth,
paused in an epipelagic womb.
But today is a day for crying, a day
of a tall child being cut out
into coldness. A day of
learning to breathe
anew in love of myself,
surrounded by a descending bubble
of my own volition, grasping onto
that small anchor I kept.