Dead Man’s Float
Saturday at the city pool,
bikinis splattered across blue canvas,
Jackson Pollock
of cellulite and translucence.
I tell her to trust the water.
I tell her to do it right
She’s got to push a knife into fear,
slice an opening in invisible.
Eyes closed against sky
arms out, head down
the line where blue meets blue
blurred to light on skin.
A group of boys shouts
graffitti against the rules.
She inhales a mouthful.
Language burns a tattoo
onto nothing’s right shoulder.