LANDLOCKED CHILDHOOD

Most of my nightmares involve the ocean.
I’m on a cruise ship as it hits rough seas. It flips over, then bobs upright, a duck
seeking a sinking bread crumb. A bathtub toy. Window squares
fill with water. I’m told this can just happen. My girls,
my adopted cats, are in cargo below, and I want
to check they are safe after the surprise flip. They could be drowning
and I ask if I can check on them, but no, I must wait
until we dock. It’s just not safe. There is a flood
in my childhood home, where I still live in the dream. In the desert.
I wade across the house to save the cats. I find Mina curled in a chair,
dripping. She’s the one who looks most closely
like my already departed cat. Water stretches across unfinished floors, leaving
in its wake thick gray fingers, evidence of reach.
I cling to the side of a sailboat, the sea and a creamsicle sunset at my back, my body
in the water but my head above. I’m in the middle of the ocean
as a horse swims past. I wonder why he is there
but not why I am. I’m from the desert so is it any wonder
I dream of drowning? On reflection I realize I’m
surrounded but not sinking.

Suzy Eynon is a writer from Arizona. Her work has appeared in Autofocus, X-R-A-Y, South Dakota Review, Variant Lit, and elsewhere. She lives in Seattle with her cats.