I have never shied away from a scalpel Always eager for dissections in grade school I know what it is to have someone tug at your organs, methodically categorizing your pieces while you lay motionless, unaware. I was born amphibious know what it’s like to one day stretch out foreign limbs, suddenly developed, to adapt to an unfamiliar environment inhaling painful gulp, after gulp, after gulp surprised to find yourself suffocating, new lungs telling you to breathe air you do not yet know how to. Some of us are starved of moisture the lakes that once fed us having long-since run dry Our porous skin learns to soak up every last droplet of the stagnant water, uses it to sustain our glass organs melding algae into ourselves until we glow a nauseous green. The poisonous words intertwine with the ones that helped us grow — Over time you forget how to tell the difference. We become vessels of pain, Sitting under leaves laden with rainwater, ready to defend ourselves at the lightest touch. It is difficult to learn to put down the knife To pick up the needle, mend without needing to know why. To swim in the rivers, to sit in the drainpipe, To know when you are ready to leave. If you listen close enough after it rains You can hear the faint croaking of the frogs.
MiC Columnist Isabelle Fernandes can be reached at ellefern@umich.edu.