by Christine Pennylegion
When she tired of being human, she made her bed and left the front door unlocked, finding it
suddenly easy to choose another way—first sliding onto the river, then under it. As her body
lengthened she felt the pull of her head and feet stretching toward the sky; her belly swelled and
hardened. Back went her arms like wings, like gunwales, up went her face as a figurehead,
reflecting bliss, bliss—up she came out of the river a hard sleek thing, buoyant, glass-bottomed,
with her belly full of beauty and face squaring east to meet the sun.
Christine Pennylegion has lived in and around Toronto, Ottawa, Pittsburgh, Baltimore, and Windsor. She holds a BA(Hons) in English from the University of Toronto, and an MAR from Trinity School for Ministry. Her poems have been published by Dunes Review, Humana Obscura, Understorey Magazine, and others. Read more at christinepennylegion.com.
Emerge Literary Journal 