Letter to Your Chromosomes

Dear XY:

Gone, but I am not crying over this - now familliar with the tide taking, then giving, then taking away.

But you are not the sea. You do not contain her many formations, her moods, her swellings; you are not filled
with even a speck of the life in which she continually subsumes. No, you are a man and, in fact, the only
life you will ever be capable of embodying is your own. You are brave, in a foolish way, to think you can take,
then toss, a heart that offers itself up for your care. You've but one heart, and every month,
I shed seed upon seed of hearts.

One day, you will stand at the shore, you will feel the sting of a jellyfish or a school of fish swarming
at your calves, and it will dawn on you: woman and the sea are one in the same, full of lives upon lives,
and you've only just yours. You will sink down and soak your knees in this knowledge and you will cry out an apology.

Signed, XX

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© 2018 Monica Lewis