Get Murky Esther

“New York is dissolving, they are all dissolving away and none of them matter anymore.

I don’t know them, I have never known them and I am very pure.”

--The Bell Jar, Sylvia Plath

Come get murky with me Esther. Submerge in the dark deep. The water is black, not choked with oils or mud, but opaque in a way that water could never possibly be. We defy contradictions, and by our presence here this place is sanctified. Do you hear me? Do you understand? Language is useless; touch me and you will feel it, and you will know. Place your hand on my chest, taunt under damp cloth, and you will know by the movement of my blood that we are sacred and alive. Finally we are alive. Let’s sink deeper and be holy and think great things and think each other’s thoughts and believe. The water is dark but it is warm, surprisingly, comfortingly warm. The only light comes from the pale bulb so close above, but dim, a small bubble around you and me and the center of the pool. The green of the walls reflects back at the edges of vision and it only makes your emerald eyes gleam even stronger. If you moved more than a foot away, I only would see the brilliant green of your iris, until both would be extinguished too after a few more inches. But please, do not leave, the water is dark and deep, and I don’t want to lose you now. Come closer. Let me whisper your thoughts into your ear, and you will shudder at first because they are dark, and come from a heavy place, in a voice not your own. Do not despair; I will not let you drown under that weight. We still have the light that glances along the surface, and you can whisper back to me the desperate incantations you repeat each night in your chambers to ward off dreams of sludge.

SM Jun 2010