Submersion — stückweise
by Kathrin Köhler
Es hält sie, cradles her in its waves, seaweed growing serpentine through her hair, undulating and hypnotic. Hair so dark it shames the night. Das Leichenlicht dulls her eyes, seeps between her lips, expired and set free. Sie glüht, like a pearl covered by the briny ocean glows. The moon caressing her skin with cold light. Pressed down by the weight of water she will glow until the fish take her away, stückweise. Piece by piece. And her hair will fill their bellies with its night.
Kathrin Köhler lives and writes speculative fiction and poetry in Madison, WI. Her day job is driving taxi at a worker-owned cab cooperative, though she works into the night. Her poetry has previously appeared in Goblin Fruit and is forthcoming in Strange Horizons. She dabbles in blogging here.
The poem she immediately thinks of when a goblin says "cherry" is "Cherry-Time" by Robert Graves: "Cherries of the night are riper / Than the cherries pluckt at noon / Gather to your fairy piper ... And you'll be fairies soon."
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