No one notices when a fresh stem of baby’s breath
falls into a pool. Instead, contention among the fangs
simmers with rolling eyes, laughter, and barbecue.
Everyone is testing each other. Backhanded comments
clamor for attention. The egg timer is on, ticking until
another fight breaks. As time ticks, the first escape,
a splash, goes undetected. The girl descends to where
light stops reflecting secrets tanning beneath the sun.
She falls away from shadows pointing fingers.
Tension subsides and the faces fade. She sinks deeper
into the black pupil of a blue iris. Perhaps she will find
a god hidden in an oyster at the bottom. With no air,
there is a stillness, except when terror overcomes
the mother who reaches for where her love began.
This poem is from Thea Matthews’ new book, Grime.
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