with a too-small font?
Literally, double: install one
on the outside and one on the inside,
and hope to god it placates the trench
to the left of your lungs.
But don’t hope for anyone to actually
be able to read it.
Actually, if someone does
read it: panic. Honest-to-god: panic –
freeze in place like waterfalls
before you crash
Then push, push everything away.
Carry it so far
it will not be able
to trace you back.
Submerge them so deep
they will not be able
to remember your name.
If they defiantly remember
your smile, beat them into the rocks
a couple times, so the slightest flash of teeth
will leave their stomach churning.
When you deposit them on the shore –
when the coast guard hauls
their shaking, shivering form
from the heart of your natural disaster –
let them go.
Do not wave. Do not cry.
Tell yourself it is for the better.
Chant it. Pillow it in your head,
and fall back on it every damn time you forget.
For waves are beautiful things to ride to shore,
but never to be swallowed by.