Inevitability crashes over me
like sea salt in my nose, exhaling
the deep and feeling a burn
that Nineveh will never know
while Tarshish fades in the horizon
that keeps bobbing and
disappearing out of focus.
Drowning in the doubt about
whether the world will wonder
why I did not know, and worse,
that they will know that
I wonder if I’m good enough,
which is the real stigma
among these sailors and fish.
In a splash of imagination
I see a door open wide
beyond the closing world
of seaweed and insecurity,
and it consumes me
with mercy and the smallness
of compassion withheld.