[In the ocean with my brother, I wonder]

Winslow Homer, Northeaster, oil on canvas, 1895, reworked by 1901. Courtesy of The Metropolitan Museum of Art.

In the ocean with my brother, I wonder
if I should make my same old walking
into the ocean joke. “Whelp. I guess
I’ll just keep going. Goodbye.” It is
how I feel every time I’m in the sea—
Hello, vastness. I would be partly ok
with being swallowed whole never
to return.
I learned long ago that my
thoughts of suicide are thoughts about
death of the old, death of what is no longer
serving me, but I can’t even joke
anymore, so much of my family being
swallowed up or standing near the edge.
My sister travels to Boca Raton to train
in representing recovery & posts a picture
in front of azaleas or bougainvillea—
azaleas, I think—caption: It’s so beautiful here.
I barely talk to my sister, but I’m glad she’s
not in the hospital. Goodbye, the old. Thank you,
vastness. Whelp, let’s just keep going.