it was cold and my eyeliner ran into
ink stains at the top of the water. the trees
faded and my body crowned itself in algae.
my heels ached as i sank and the torn apart
rocks became my bones. bubbling behind
my half broken, half eaten pupil. there was
something that i forgot to tell you and i think
it’s important enough to be in the cabinet. the adrenaline
disappears and all that’s left is desperate ice and snow
and carbon monoxide. i doubt we’ll stay here long
enough to decompose. pure lake water
swells my lungs followed by the sand. i ran
before i jumped and before i ran i saw god
tear open your skull. the last time i saw you
you were floating on the ice-soaked
sun. it was between what you called me
and the flies. i wish i could tell you what happens
when i find my head above water but we all know
the only thing i will be met with is ice. there’s something
poetic in the leaving behind of the grass
but we sit here, abandoned by the rip tide, waiting
for the sun to come up and find myself renewed
Kaydance Rice (she/her) is a writer from Grand Rapids, Michigan and currently attending Interlochen Arts Academy. Her work can be found or is forthcoming in The Ice Lolly Review, voicemail poems, Cargoes, and Élan Magazine. Kaydance is also a prose editor for Surging Tide Magazine and staff contributor for The Lunar Journal. In her free time, Kaydance enjoys playing the viola, rambling about existentialism, and spending time with her plants.