B a c k b o n e

Struggle has the spirit

Gasping for air.

Plunged head first

Into water

Again and again.

Baptism by affliction.

Before there was some fight.

Tried to swim

Against the current.

Tried to stay

Above the waves.

Drawing in

As much oxygen

I could,

Each time

I was lucky enough

To resurface.

Now,

The comfort of the

Undertow is embraced.

Trickling effortlessly

Over the section

Of my back

Where a spine

Once perched.

Lungs are flooded.

Dried-up, swollen

Esophagus

Positioned

At the center

Of my throat.

Swallowing seawater

Causes dehydration.

Funny isn't it?

Enduring dehydration

In the midst

Of drowning.

There is not much fight

Left in this dog.

But that is okay.

I am beginning

To accept

This role as

A bottom feeder.