by BEE LB

 

find a body of water big enough to show your reflection
and too shallow to drown in. look at the water

but not yourself. remind yourself that ophelia lived only
in a book you’ve never read.

remind yourself you own no drowning gowns.
step into the water. feel the chills race

from the base of your body all the way up. do not move
until you are covered entirely in gooseflesh.

remind yourself of odette. see odile from the corner of your eye.

step further into the water. this is best performed without cover,
but if there is a chance of eyes present, wear something thin and dark.

ensure it is more than one layer. ensure it will cling to you without
weighing you down. remind yourself you are not here to drown.

if you’d like, let waltz of the white and black swans play
while you step into the water— but the sound must exist only in your mind.

the water may not reach above your knee. you may not let your body bend
beneath you. go to the water at any time, but you must stay until dawn.

if you stay through the night, you must dream only while awake.

if there is salt in the air you will feel free, but you will be too close
to the ocean. find yourself far from home.

let your body adjust to the cold. notice exactly the amount of time it takes
to become comfortable, then notice how long you can last before you begin

to ache from the wet. convince your body to last til dawn, and then
step out of the water.

stop thinking of the ballet. think instead of the width of possibility.
think of how far your two legs could take you, if you let them.

let them.

 

 

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BEE LB is an array of letters, bound to impulse; a writer creating delicate connections. they have called any number of places home; currently, a single yellow wall in Michigan. they have been published in FOLIO, Roanoke Review, and Figure 1, among others. they are a poetry reader for Capsule Stories. they can be found, on occasion, @twinbrights on instagram. their portfolio can be found at twinbrights.carrd.co