Automatic redux
It was Independence Day when she brought to shore wreaths of wilted flowers from the bodies of men drowned in small, water-logged skiffs at sea. They’d celebrated too early and accepted gifts too early at sea, from the sea. Anemones, plankton, nudibranchs, and man-of-wars. She brought them between teeth like tiny arrows. She said, “Some said it was Independence Day and these dead men, their bodies, god bless their souls, but perhaps their bodies, too, had bubbles once, so some said to bring them to you.” These men and their flowers fell at our feet as we rose in a common cheer.
