Animation by Selah Loevy

Imagine an apple drifting on the sea. Day breaks and a piece up 

towards the top turns 

a little brown. One singular leaf stuck to the middlest valley in between two red mountains curving to meet at the bottom. Like a wilted umbrella, little width, much rain. Soon, like a child’s tooth that has hung on for a little too long, that sliver of leaf breaks from its fruit, finds itself adrift. And this apple of the ocean toasts a little more hastily; a sunburnt sinking ship sailing towards all the nothing. And as that soaked strip of leaf, paled with photosynthesis, goes dripping down the apples’ perimeter, she stays hidden inside, the core of this fruits’ lifedeath. She, an infant, cuddles in her form, with the juice spread around her, and she doesn’t move. Her head sunk down into her bellybutton, her toes splayed in applesauce mash, her eyes squeezed

Shut against the liquid sugars. 

She has always been this way. She would always be this way. 


As the sun kissed stronger, and the oceans’ wet lips smothered faster, that apple 

the safe zone

the home

Would disintegrate 

There, it’s disintegrating

Caving in, becoming shriveling, embarking on the adventure of rot. And the babe, stuck in the midst of this hurricane

The eye of the storm

Would seem to grow bigger to burst 

Through the sunken insides

Breaking through skin

Flushed out the bottom

And gravity would speak:

Sink, child, see

Yuna fall into destiny

Yuna goes to the depths of me 

And the child went obliged to seek nothing, to understand nothing 

Passing through

Until, with a tug something caught. Perhaps it was the lifedeath conundrum. Perhaps it was fate. For it seemed rather unknowingly that a segment of Yuna 

Her gums to be exact

Had clamped around a string

And her stronger-than-sun kiss with stronger-than-ocean lips


Gaze shooting up to rest upon a savior, an anti-gravity pull, a life tug 

Surrender up, succumb to the rise

Said the balloon.

Yet with all its good intention and freedom of weight, Yuna got caught up in the clouds of the sky

Where the air is too thin

And her lungs became dry. What left to do but become like a rock?

Yuna curls, crutches, crouches

Till the tips of her toes and the crack of her butt

Entered the tip of the oceantop

And as if starting over

From babe to balloon

Yuna the child had an expansion to do. She had to tread mighty hard and swim mighty far, and perhaps one day find land. Until then, Yuna the ageless will deflate

will pop

will wait

will drop

Into her lifedeath, whatever it may be, whether she remembers her apple, keeps the balloon, travels in circles of lines or backwards, sinks to deeper blues, floats to higher heights, finds something new

A survival of impermanence

Once clasped



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