Before the lizard gods, I was shaped from blue clay, my eight fins pinched, scales combed, gills lifted like crescents. I trembled my fins, tested my mouth on coral and young clownfish, dove deep. Above, lands shifted and crashed, drawing lava from my ocean floor. The reptiles rose and fell. Things began to take to the … is it air? New primates grew greedy. I dove deeper, leaving the shallows to those who dared go out in tree shells.
Diana Smith Bolton
Diana Smith Bolton is the founding editor of District Lit. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Beltway Poetry Quarterly, Cider Press Review, Coldnoon, The Fem, The Gambler, Gargoyle, If and Only If, The Northern Virginia Review, The Pedestal, The Pinch and elsewhere.