⎯⎯ ୨ Selkie Stories ୧ ⎯⎯ ─- a found poem -─ I hate selkie stories. They are always about finding something you shouldn’t touch and touching it anyway. A coat. Disgusting. Old. Gray in front and gray in back. You hold it between finger and thumb. You ask, What’s this? And then you never see your mother again. She puts it on. She goes out the kitchen door. She starts the car. No explanation. No looking back. We were the losers. Me and Dad. In selkie stories someone always knows better. They know what the skin is. They know what it means. They lock it away anyway. Without it she cannot breathe. She learns to walk on land. She learns the house. She learns waiting. Time passes. It always does. The child grows up listening for the water inside their own body. Sometimes the child finds the skin. Sometimes they give it back. She does not hesitate. She does not explain. Kissing never solves anything. No one loves you just because you love them. She runs. She dives. She is gone. The man stands knee-deep in what he cannot follow. In selkie stories there is no transformation. Only leaving. That’s the part people miss. There are no winners. Not the one who loved and took. Not the one who loved and left. Not the child who learns too early how to lose. Only the sea stays. Keeping what was always its own. *. * · - note - *. * · This poem is a work of found poetry composed partly of language sourced and rearranged from Sofia Samatar’s short story, "Selkie Stories Are For Losers." I have woven in my own original poetry aswell. I recommend checking out the story, it can easily be found online and is a wonderful read, though only a few pages. . . . ⇢ ˗ˏˋ poetry: @Q1nix ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ thank you for reading ˗ˏˋ thank you @its_aves for hosting <3
