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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