Beneath the Surface (poem)

I wrote this awhile ago, about a friend who was raped at fifteen by the eighteen-year-old man who said he loved her.

Beneath the Surface

i.

air thins as in high places,
whirring like an insect’s buzz
between your ears

a broken mosaic: flickering candles
transform his muscles
into to shadows, highlights

your bra
in the corner, limp
white swell, defenseless

above, his face
one featureless tile
matte black

crimson, too
what to call
this straining, fingerless hand
like the stump
of a bloodied wrist?

ii.

on the ceiling
water stain bleeds
into the shape
of tail and bottle nose,
for the duration
you are that dolphin
submerged below
stucco waves

iii.

tomorrow, he will drive
too fast in his cherry convertible,
fingers waving through wind
smile bright as a new coat of paint

tomorrow,
you’ll sit alone
drowning

heart slowing
blood shifting
lungs collapsing
compressed by navy
deeper than light,
inescapable