Michael Diehl, Cannon Beach
Sea Monster
I shut my eyes
and the world drops dead.
—Sylvia Plath
Phorcys makes a terrible father. We share
an ordinary household stage-set in the landscape—
sitting at the breakfast table, his juice glass to the left.
I fold a napkin and tuck it under his fork.
Welcome to my mythology. The heroine doesn’t bleed—yet—
an ordinary girl—so small she could be crushed easily.
Her dormant temper coils snake-like in her belly.
On stage a burning field, a burning mountain,
a burning castle. My tulle ballet costume,
silk singed by the footlights, catches fire—burns.
I burn. My body genuflects. Grandmother Gaia
trudges on—heedless of my sputtering candle.
_____________
Dale Champlin