Semelparous
Death of a Single Mind
She is diving in an ocean that grows steadily darker, as though to obscure an abusive creature. A cyclic progression of sea meets her mask and passes her flippers, holding unseen life in muted bioluminescence. On occasion, a blanket octopus haunts her periphery, though it could be her babies walking home in the snow, or the birthday lunch with her granddaughter when they first bonded. Turning to look only shoves it further out of sight until she is grasping at rising bubbles.
Somewhere above, below, or off to the side is a Thanksgiving dinner at her youngest’s home. The eldest guides her up the stairs. Her chuckle at a vague familial pleasantry is but the click between tanked breaths. Laughter was Bert on the stairs with the bowl of mashed potatoes, his silver stubble and gold-crowned smile, his bright eyes leading the family in prayer-a larger circle than this gathering.
A grandchild hugs her: Okay, honey, she says smiling. The grandchild speaks, voice deafening and all she hears is a kush of water against her mask. The grandchild waves their hand, bares teeth, goes away. Her skin contracts beneath a short-sleeve pastel shirt and a thick, white, cotton jacket. In her periphery, people chat in couples.
There’s something in the depths. She grasps at bubbles she knows are there. Her legs kick through a…
