Madi Bednarik
Call it a tug. Call it an ache. That thing behind the wall of my chest
in my heart’s place. Call it a creature, shrouded in black. It demands
of me more. So, I dive to the bottom of the ocean. I sort the shells from
the silt. Feed it coral and krill and octopus. Shipwrecks, anchors, pieces
of people swallowed by the sea. Unsatisfied, it pleads more. More.
The same way my body implores of me motherhood, begs of me,
woman, wife, let man and child make meaning of you, it will learn
to breathe water. So, I slit the skin between the ladder of my being,
ribs that resemble gills, rungs beneath flesh. I draw blood and inhale
the ocean like air. And still that chasm in my center, scratches
scrambles, rails at the bars of my bones. Wants for something else.
I’ll try land then. Plains, mountains, an unsetting sun in the purple sky.
Room to run from everything to nothing from nothing to everything.
I have always been saddled by desire. The yawning beast of me,
an unbroken colt, it resists and bucks and yanks. Says it again.
I could hike the surface of the moon. I could traverse time. My
muscle and sinew between its maw, it whips its neck. No, more.
Madi Bednarik is a writer and youth lacrosse coach dedicated to wellness and expression. She is an MFA candidate at William Paterson University based in New Jersey. Her work has been previously published in Signet.
