dawn, day, dusk
Published in

dawn, day, dusk

Dusk: the coot

The coot submerges himself into the water, his head being the first to disappear. It’s gone for some time, then some time more, some time so much more that I would no longer remember having seen him. But I did see him, and I do remember; he springs out from the water, his head being the first to appear.

The setting sun beams straight into my eyes, through to my soul. My soul is a heated oven, baking memories.

At a young age, I went swimming every week. At the deep end of the pool, I gave a little underwater kick, then submerged myself into the water, my head being the last to disappear. In the length and depth of a breath, I uttered underwater spells, metamorphosed into my underwater shape, conjured up an underwater city, roamed its underwater streets with my underwater friends. I created an underwater world and lived there, as real as I led my terrestrial life. The pauses I took to float to the surface for oxygen were automatically unconscious, the only proof of my simultaneous existence in both worlds.

Now the coot is gone once more. I can’t say for sure where he’s gone off to. Who knows what shape of a life he’s created down there.




This is a collection of short stories—micro-memoirs—for grapefruits, shoulders, volleyballs, Eurasian coots, grassy hills, monsters under the bed, laughters, and the like that lie in life’s riverbed. I crouch, look, pick them up, and spin them into language for you, my readers.

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An artist in, of, for, at life. My very life is my performance art. I write short and sweet (and savory) stories and poems in this grand performance ( •◡•) ♪

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