Ophelia

I stood for a moment while the mud

sucked at my toes.

There were no flowers in my arms—

I couldn’t think where they had gone.

I combed my hair with four spread fingers,

pulling out the tangles. I took a step,

and the water splashed my knees.

I had a prince, once.

Another step—my dress spread itself

on the surface like the petals of a flower

until the water caught the fabric

and dragged it under.

I followed slowly—

hands, shoulders, neck, lips,

eyes.