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Poetry: Calypso's Five Decade Soak

1.

Soap suds storm porcelain edges

of the Gulf of Mexico,

making landfall at record speeds.

We leave the water on, think

she’ll turn it off herself.


2.

Freckled & bruised, a soft island –

Calypso’s breast emergent in the wide bath.

Reef-ribbed, polyp-pored, kelp-curled,

skin flakes off in salts and sands.

How long can she hold her breath?


3.

When our tub overflows

her sand-bar knees submerge.

Next the fortified elbows,

her lighthouse nose,

colorful Keys adorning her toes.


4.

Plastic baubles swirl

& organs bleach,

skin peels off in scutes,

her hard-bright room sings

like a wine glass as the waters rise.


5.

An inch a year, soon a foot,

a meter, three. Our Calypso

lulled by heat, drowns.

Her heart? Brined in its own salts.

Still we do not stop the faucet.



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