SEASICK
I vomit all over the floor
as my mother undoes my necklace.
It was the fountain made of white chocolate seashells.
I walk down the isle crying and
gripping each petal,
forgetting to let them drop.
Or maybe I try, but my hands are too
wet from nausea.
My husband finds me
tearing Anthropologie sweaters from the walk-in closet
I hope he doesn’t notice the scent of bile
enough to fill the house.
Huge house on the water.
The expressions of my second, third cousins are obscured
but I know they are smiling because
I have a job to do, finally.
The next time I smell porcelain
there’s a child inside me.
My second, third cousins have fallen ill
the kind you can’t forget
because it never subsides.
We toss ashes from a boat
while they coo at me
“Celebration of life.”
From my stroller I imagine
ocean monsters.
In the Hamptons, I rip my knee on coral.
blood pools onto sand
I think of my job and am interrupted
by an abundance of saliva.
Sickness slides up my throat.
I look good in my bathing suit, considering.
