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I'll Meet You at the Bottom
Mustajab Farrukh

A dead fish floats 
So does the human body. 
(But) not before 
Water gushes down the bronchial pathways
the lungs collapse under the weight of the air they can’t 
breathe, the tiny spaces between the pores of the skin 
swell 
blue green yellow, beautiful as corals 
the skin swells swells swells 
(Until) the creatures of the dark start 
tearing away at it 
dismember the body limb by limb till only the bones remain
the bones that then dedicate their lives to the seabed 
embed themselves 
so deeply, so irrevocably into the ground
like lovers under the sheets, lovers never meant to part, lovers whose love kills them 
(Yet) lovers who only live in hopes of that death.
It’s how he died, they said
Drowning is the third leading cause of deaths worldwide
and he drowned 
(himself. don’t say he drowned himself.)
An accident, a beautiful day in March when the sun fondles the sea 
from a million years afar and the sea
sings a song it has been suppressing for a million lifetimes. 
A beautiful day when you can’t really look too closely at the waters 
because a million golden fireflies dance before your eyes 
and the orange of a fire erupts across your eyelids as you lie back
letting the waves nibble at your toes.
A beautiful day, some might say, to die
On accident. A misfortune. A tragedy.
(Respite. Relief. A contract fulfilled.)

A dead fish floats.
So did his body. 
I can tell you because I watched
watched him slip 
(step carefully) into the waves
that cared for him, that were much too familiar 
That turned him onto his back, carried him
away. 
I watched, as the entire sea stopped moving
so he could sink at his ease, so his bones wouldn’t be too cold
The entire sea stopped moving
to claim a life that had so beautifully surrendered itself to it.
I watched. His body floated
away. 

​

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