The Estuary

by Lorette C. Luzajic

The seagrass, like woodcut lines zigzagging across the dark water. Rippling cords all tangled in the shallows like some kind of labyrinth. The soft moon illuminates a hushed halo over her brow. Sometimes she wails for her drowned child and the eerie sound fills up the whole world. Sometimes there is mere silence. No wind, no waves. I crawled off of the same shore, the epigenetic trauma of hate and war. Want spun through and through my story. Like a ghost, I wandered after her, needy and damaged and desperate, tugging at her silk nightgown, begging her to see me. 

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Lorette C. Luzajic reads, writes, edits, publishes, and teaches flash fiction and prose poetry. She is the founding editor of The Ekphrastic Review and The Mackinaw.

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