Baptism
By Shieva Salehnia
The fountain in the middle of Washington Square Park has not always been there, just as I have not always been here standing next to it.
In the middle of the park, I climb inside the edge of the fountain’s lips. I lean back against them, cool slick stone. The bubbling center spray spurts, streams, arcs, rushing into the filthy city sky, plumes so massive, they bring the smell of the ocean.
The water washes off the weight of people’s attention, the unrelenting mess of the city off my ankles, swollen and ashen from the heat and sticky grime of each sidewalk I pressed my soul against to get here.
100 years ago, the star magnolias didn’t grow on the trees at the parks’ edge. But now the flower beds bloom with bluebells and red and yellow lipped tulips.
We are transplants, the bluebells, the fountain and I. Yet, we are each a perfect manifestation here. Nature never gives up. I remind myself I am part of nature.
April 2023
Raised in South Dakota by my Iranian-immigrant parents, I was brought up to deeply appreciate poetry, especially in the lyrical traditions of the Southwest Asia and North Africa region. I write poetry to define and redefine myself, as a means of liberation, and to allow others to feel less alone in their own uncommon and mundane experiences. I currently live in Los Angeles, where I publish and co-edit a literary zine called Embryo Concepts, and am writing an upcoming comic series called Girl Crazy about the adventures of two queer women living in New York City.
Photo credit: Rich Herrmann via a Creative Commons license.
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