We substituted shapes of ourselves
for substrate to make art.
We drowned plaster casts of our bodies
for coral polyps to colonize and spread
brain mazes or ridges of pop-up stars.
Creatures competed on hollow shells
we placed on the sandy bottom. The clear
water reveals sunken ships, bookcases,
and pets we left to create new reefs.
Now years build layers of pink and green
coral until noses crumble away, arms drift
in currents. I imagine the rush of it, pressure
our molds cannot feel. We become particles.
We travel an ocean no one fathoms.
Alyse Bensel currently resides in State College, PA, while pursuing her MFA in poetry at Penn State. Her poetry has appeared or is forthcoming in Cider Press Review, The Meadowland Review, Foothill, Untitled Country Review, and Evening Skyline Review. She contributes book reviews regularly for Newpages, and additional book reviews have appeared or are forthcoming in Prairie Schooner, The Los Angeles Review, CALYX, Coldfront, Fiction Writers’ Review, and Rain Taxi, among others. When not engaged in her teaching and studies, she teaches at non-profit art organizations and works for a share program at a local CSA.
