Everyone Thinks I'm Ancient But I'm Only Seven

In the hundred years it takes to cross the ocean between us, I read every
book in my body. I said goodbye tonight, to Antarctica, as the lightning
picked up. All my maps are useless and invisible. Every now and then a
tentacle reaches up from the darkness and points to the places you are
not. In my dreams I remember everything about you, but when I awake there
is only your hair in my fists and the journey ahead. I imagine when my small boat
finally arrives, the angel in your place will say that I am too late—you are
long gone. And when I tell him it’s been a hundred years he will laugh and
say it’s only been seven days and his mouth will grow wide and he will
swallow me whole.