Eliza Marsh
The Girl Whose Gills Are Coming In
Land legs failing. Ocean calling. Gills incoming.
I live in the in-between—neither fully of the land nor fully claimed by the sea. My body remembers what I’ve never seen, drawn by tides I can’t explain. I wear sweaters to hide the webbing, but the scales are spreading. I try to hold onto the people I love, even as the salt thickens in my blood and the pull of the deep grows louder.
What I'm Into: the pull of the tide, genealogy charts with missing names, webbed fingertips, moonlight on dark water, fog that never lifts
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