Photo Story: The Liver
We called that bay “The Liver” then, for its brown thickness, for its shame. We had moved back in like roaches, once the wealthy foreigners abandoned us for someplace cleaner to enjoy themselves. I first found my way into the dirty water alone at five, while Mom swore, broke things, and licked her wounds like a wolf. I set out to sea on dirty styrofoam, drifted for years. I held my breath and grew tentacles. Finally grown, I emerged from the sea on a surfboard washed up in the muck, and went to discover what had happened to the wolf.
I love the imagery…