Love in the time of—

Until further notice, I have taken a break
from life, at least in the sense that touching
things is living, rooting my palms to firmness,
their creases flattened at the heart-line.
My doorknob is unturned. I am sorry to tell
you, but I have cut my fingernails short.

Instead, I am cupping my hands underneath
the hot tap. This is neither touching, nor
being touched, but the water skims my breaks
and I am reminded of those fountains I saw
at the airport, their backs pressed to the wall
and cemented two feet apart, the emptiness

around them, the fear of other mouths.
Three weeks ago, we plunged our forearms
into the aquarium tidal pool. Your face lit
as the peppermint shrimp jumped from its rock
to clean your fingers. Be patient, you said,
and so I waited there with my open hand,

and the gravel scraped against my knuckles.
A starfish unbent. The water was clear.

Gennifer Godley received her BA in English Literature at the University of Maryland, her MA in Creative Writing at Newcastle University, and is currently pursuing a practice-led PhD at Northumbria University. Her work interrogates the ways in which we conceptualise the body to understand our surroundings, and no matter how hard she tries, all of her poems end up talking about water.