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new work by Anastasia Jill

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Guard

by Anastasia Jill

 

He graduated with a bachelor’s
in aquatic education.
They took his shirt,
hairy toes,
tan synonyms.

Rainbow strips give his lap a dance,
of tourmaline wands
and star topped
spotlights.

He is adult swim,
whistle reality.

Everyone,
out of the
pool.

 

 

Aside

 

Come titanium quartz,
turn into libertine water;
charm the bubbles
off the hips
of a holly blue tide.

There are light bulbs
behind her thighs,
lifting her skirt,
collecting arms.

She likes mushrooms,
she likes ants,
she is carved
from your rib of Adam.

Fight for her well.

 

 

Reactant

 

I have always wanted to swim at night with the moon’s kept eyes on my shoulders. She watches
us both you know. Addresses us as a we. She’s twitching, snags. Gets stuck
at the bottom of our show.

It’s pretty; it’s fuchsite clouds and leaf smocks. It’s pink, and since when is a sunset pink?
The moon is a grin in the sky, holding my hair off my neck. I am soft and warm.
I don’t care that he’s abeam.
I kiss him.

 

 

LOC

 

No diving, he says,
shoving his spit into my mouth,
using my eyes to illuminate the
chlorinated tops of trees.

My bubbles wax neon blue
and gasps when he jumps
behind.

Small price to pay
for purple hands
and an ocean made
lazuli.

 

 

Dypnesia

 

I don’t have to share him.
I don’t have to share him
with anyone except my mouth,
linked to him by air hunger.
His words grit against my teeth –
he’s mine, I’m not his –
because I want to talk the way
a 90s bathing suit fits:

pink and blue heat lightning
on a white, nylon backdrop
giving me ample room to stretch
my apple red belly button.

He is mine and I keep him
under eight feet of rope.
These are owlish waters
holding his yellow message:

staff access only
after hours.

 

 

Fluorite

 

I have pilgrim green hair
and renegade tits,
that can hold their breath
for a minute.

I dig my knees into bath lights,
hold tight,
to chlorinated nights.

He can’t make me get out of the pool.
I’m too pretty to leave.

 

 

 

BIO

Anastasia Jill (Anna Keeler) is a queer poet and fiction writer living in the southern United States. She is a current editor for the Smaeralit Anthology. Her work has been published or is upcoming with Poets.org, Lunch Ticket, FIVE:2:ONE, Ambit Magazine, apt, Into the Void Magazine, 2River, and more.

 

 

 

 

 

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