Girl at Bottom, Alive

I tried calling out for you
               & out of my mouth falls 20 lbs of titanium
                              the shape of a ship at full mast

It’s not that I’m having trouble speaking
               I seem to be doing this quite fine

But when it comes to you, my lungs are small plums
               floating up to the base of my throat

A calm cold thrills my legs
               I am impelled to run, as fast as a hand
                              self-consciously to one’s windblown hair

A small fish eye gleams reflective
               Scales the color of split gums

I fashion myself a new skin of ore & baroque pearls
               Admire myself in the bioluminescent belly of a monster

Slowly, my weight descends without disturbance
               & I know this will not last

Body as slab, I carve with an angler’s tooth:
               [        ] was here

The hook dangling before me bloats miraculous
               It cannot stifle it’s husky cackle

But it has been made a fool
               I cradled it hard inside my cheek
                              until my tongue was warm with gold

What else would you expect

Vicki Vargas hails from the Lower East Side, Manhattan by the river no one washes in. She holds an MFA in Poetry from Columbia University, and her work has appeared, or is forthcoming, in Apogee Journal, and The Feminist Wire.