REBECCA BLACK

Wakulla Springs

     starting with a line by Sterling Brown

I found me a cranny of perpetual dusk,
mastodon tusk, burnt wood
at spring bottom.
I dragged down low
the parts of myself
I couldn’t carry,
thought to burn
those diaries as catfish
whiskered my thighs.
In the lodge, visitors
dripped aqua-blue
over marble floors,
ate canned cherries,
potatoes cut into a face.
The anhinga flapped
furred wings.
I kept down low
thought to burn
my tick-bitten breast,
every creature
crossing my chest.
Hydrilla choked the swamp.
Rivers merged
and said no more
thus the black lagoon.
I don’t suppose
you knew dearest
among eel-light
and daggered palms
I made you mine by
perishing I meant to shine.