Mariah Bosch is a Chicana poet from Fresno, CA. She attends the MFA program there, where she teaches first year writing and works with Juan Felipe Herrera as a graduate fellow in his Laureate Lab Visual Wordist Studio. Her work can be found elsewhere in Peach Magazine, voicemail poems, and Flies, Cockroaches, & Poets.
I drive along a road
flanked by women running
in white cotton dresses.
I shout out the window: Keep going,
and they do. When we get to the ocean,
it kisses us all at the same time —
we tangle arms, legs, fingertips,
white cotton dresses. We wade out —
underwater, everything shifts at the same time:
plants and fish move left,
we move with water right.
We wait in the under.
In this collective body, I am unafraid.
I allow myself the moment
to feel my organs stop moving inside
of my body. The women all know
this brief moment is only my own
and they feel inward at their shifting
bodies too. I know our hearts
have caught up to each other, matched
beats per second underneath this blue.
In the measure before another pulse,
we retangle, return limb to limb,
arms and legs in braids. We float to the surface.