octopus

i met an octopus once.

she lived in a basin of clear water that trembled a little on the surface. she was being rehabilitated. her eyes were strange, bulbous, their pupils like sideways rectangles. beautiful.

her red tentacles curled delicately around my hand, feeling me. i recalled what the guide had said—to be careful of bites from the hidden beak. i tensed. she immediately withdrew. maybe she sensed my anxiety even before i did. she huddled in the corner.

no, i thought, come back. i’m sorry. i’m okay.

she gave me another chance. or maybe i gave me another chance. her tentacles were so smooth, her suckers so soft, i could barely feel them. my hand was cold in the water.

i met myself in an octopus once.

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© 2025 nessa jasper