Margin: Exploring Modern Magical Realism


Her hair lulls along, just under the water, a deep dull red.
She is surfacing again.

I am swimming, swimming
frenzied American, eyes the cheap blue
of aquarium pebbles.

There are her hands. They are fish tails.
Jealousy floats about me like ambergris.

She is sure to wash up on some warm beach,
off Jamaica, along the Florida Keys

my lover will find her
hold up the ark of her hip bones, people her
with his half tea spoon universe.

Meanwhile, my heart washes up off the coast of Alaska,
strangled by sixpack plastic, shuddering in oil,
its veined feet still kicking

a l l i s o n   d e f r e e s e
l a w r e n c e ,   k a n s a s

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Rev'd 2005/01/26