Swim down, down, beneath the waves, into the amniotic calm of the deep, past schools of fish and wrecks of ships to a green, glimmering city.
Take the main line past the mermaid nail salon and the trident repair shop, pause to wave at the sirens working their summer jobs at the swim-through fish wash. Get an order of sailor sashimi take-out from the Kraken’s cafe. Watch drag racing manta rays on Seaweed Boulevard.
Cross the street to avoid rough sharks from broken homes, the ones who burgled Davy Jones’ Locker for a few doubloons. On and on, until you reach the last house on the left, where a matronly giant squid in a whalebone corset swaddles you in kelp and lays you down gently in a coral crib.
Sleep, my little cuttlefish, sleep.
This entry is part of Jack Rusher’s journal, originally published January 12th, 2011, in New York.