Last night, I turned into Lake Sinclair

by Emily Bohannon

Me and Tami, you see

yeah, Mama, I hear you

Tami and I

took off our clothes

ran down the dock

and slipped in

the only cool place

though also warm

like someone peed

maybe Tami’s brother

but still

it’s cooler than the house

cooler than anywhere in this godforsaken—

and then Holy shit, I thought,

I just turned into the lake.

I became the black water

with moon dappled—

is there any other word for moonlight on the water?

excuse me, on me?

Now that I am the lake

I have nothing to do

nowhere to be

nothing expected of me

and it’s a surprise

with so much nothing and nowhere

to feel whole

all in one piece for once

not scattered out over a life.

Turns out—

they’re the same

something and nothing

and when you’re a lake

you feel everything at once

warm and cool

sun and moon

no definition

no articulation

uncontained, yet

I felt no panic.

I wanted no container and

wasn’t afraid of how big I’d become.

I didn't need to explain this to anyone.