Homesickness, Pt. 2 / Dawn

Eleanor Macagba

Homesickness, Pt. 2


The second skin of a swimsuit,

Plastic, skin-tight feel, 

Echoes of screaming children 

across arching sky


My mom told me this is where she felt most comfortable:

in the waters of her youth,

and that she expected the same from me.


But my awkward limbs felt too exposed,

Fat beneath the armpits, 

Scarred knees,

Acne prone skin.


I yearned to feel the comfort she once did

in chlorine water against clammy flesh—

because breaking the surface,

in that place where water and burning concrete meet,

was a home she had built for me,

and a home she expected me to love.


Between wine drunken nights,

These were the only times her veiny, splotchy hands 

would grasp mine firmly, 

rather than stay hidden behind lace gloves.


Bend your elbow more,

She’d say, and all I’d think about

Were how rough her palms were—

where had she gained those callouses?

What stories lay behind the map of scars and blemishes? 

Look straight ahead. Focus.


I find myself at the pool once more,

Years after that childhood,

Where I found myself missing her

Before she had gone


Submerging my head under icy water

My hair pools around me

Like blooming jellyfish.


Dawn


Milky sky blooming to red and back again, 

red like scraped knees 

from tripping up on growing legs

red like my own flowering lungs, 

gasping for fresh air. 


Dirt-stained callused hands 

peel back clementines with care,

touch reserved only for fruits 

grown in your own backyard. 


The pads of your fingers brush against mine

as we pass the fruit between each other.

Juice overwhelming us with sweetness—

fruit rinds thrown to the side

and we reach for another. 


Time holds less weight when the world and I are moving at the same pace. 


But we were victims of the night 

and when we wake up we hold different bodies,

ones that feel heavier, 

submerged in rain, 

drained of innocence.  


I drag my limbs of rusted iron across the room and draw the curtains.


For a moment 

I let the sun soak into my tired skin—

once again feel the steady rhythm of a beating heart. 


A familiar ache comes back to the scars on my knees,

scrapes from growing legs now grown. 



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