by Hailey Williams
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.
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?
When our tub overflows
her sand-bar knees submerge.
Next the fortified elbows,
her lighthouse nose,
colorful Keys adorning her toes.
Plastic baubles swirl
& organs bleach,
skin peels off in scutes,
her hard-bright room sings
like a wine glass as the waters rise.
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.