My mom told me last night
a shrimp’s heart lives
in its head.
You’re the same way,
she says stroking my hair.
Small prawns shuffle
as they carry coral abdomens.
Long antennae graze the ocean floor,
cloudy eyes like fogged mirrors.
Two sides wade in treacherous waters,
I stand in the middle,
a tug of war.
I search for my mom,
my head pounding,
blood boiling like molten lava.
As I tread across the wet sand,
it weighs down my feet,
sticking to my shell-like glue.
I watch as oxygen sways
through the water
like wind shuffles leaves.
My body quivers from the cold.
I have two options
and I can’t find my mom.
I have two options.
I turn right.