Surface Area
_ the house filled with water and as she drowned
gills opened along her neck the skin
had always been rough there
she swept her arms
and turned a slow green circle
bits of coffee cup knocked against the baseboard
sucked back and forth by invisible waves
above the stove spice bottles clicked like
shells rolled in surf and
three bright orange
fish nibbled
her uneaten toast
tv sounds dragged in from the other room
the remote control on the counter
right where he left it
below her a parrotfish
beaked the cabinet hinges
cruised the linoleum she followed
nothing to be done now about the dishes
the living room was a lagoon
green light poured
in the picture windows
a blue glow reflected off the wall
she’d argued against beige carpet
too hard to keep clean
but now it looked just right
several kinds of reef fish
fluttered around the bookcases
a large jack shot down the hall
kicking after it she
passed the couch
looked back saw
his ears had
disappeared his
ponytail with the white
streak he’d had since childhood
ran along the floor plugged
into the wall socket
his limbs
four hairy table legs
next to the old Magnavox
she circled stared didn’t
recognize the people on his screen
plucked a tiny snail off his limpid face
without touching the glass
the phone didn’t ring
no one came by
glorious quiet
days
she basked
on the couch
read magazines lay
on the sandy floor and watched
silver shapes play the surface above her
sometimes heard whale song
her gills pumped open shut
she slipped her finger
inside touched warm
folded tissue like
a pool filter or car radiator
maximum area in the smallest space
touching it tickled made her want
to cough
his brother’s truck coasted up
to the driveway geared
down roared past the dark house
she re-hung the drapes
in the dim light she
swam in circles there
was no place to get
comfortable not
the shipwrecked bed not the
furniture colonized by coral
black-spined sea urchins
a diatom bloom
made her skin itch she
emptied the fridge
fed the lettuce to the green sea turtles
bread to the moorish idols and yellow tangs
chicken thighs to the young moray
that lived in the tub drain
she closed the faucet slowly
gave them time
she dressed brushed seaweed from her hair
ducked her head through the long strap of her purse
in the spare bedroom where she’d moved him
barnacles obscured his screen
would someone find him
she locked the front door slipped
the key through the jalousies
smoothed the skin
along her neck
no one would notice
gills opened along her neck the skin
had always been rough there
she swept her arms
and turned a slow green circle
bits of coffee cup knocked against the baseboard
sucked back and forth by invisible waves
above the stove spice bottles clicked like
shells rolled in surf and
three bright orange
fish nibbled
her uneaten toast
tv sounds dragged in from the other room
the remote control on the counter
right where he left it
below her a parrotfish
beaked the cabinet hinges
cruised the linoleum she followed
nothing to be done now about the dishes
the living room was a lagoon
green light poured
in the picture windows
a blue glow reflected off the wall
she’d argued against beige carpet
too hard to keep clean
but now it looked just right
several kinds of reef fish
fluttered around the bookcases
a large jack shot down the hall
kicking after it she
passed the couch
looked back saw
his ears had
disappeared his
ponytail with the white
streak he’d had since childhood
ran along the floor plugged
into the wall socket
his limbs
four hairy table legs
next to the old Magnavox
she circled stared didn’t
recognize the people on his screen
plucked a tiny snail off his limpid face
without touching the glass
the phone didn’t ring
no one came by
glorious quiet
days
she basked
on the couch
read magazines lay
on the sandy floor and watched
silver shapes play the surface above her
sometimes heard whale song
her gills pumped open shut
she slipped her finger
inside touched warm
folded tissue like
a pool filter or car radiator
maximum area in the smallest space
touching it tickled made her want
to cough
his brother’s truck coasted up
to the driveway geared
down roared past the dark house
she re-hung the drapes
in the dim light she
swam in circles there
was no place to get
comfortable not
the shipwrecked bed not the
furniture colonized by coral
black-spined sea urchins
a diatom bloom
made her skin itch she
emptied the fridge
fed the lettuce to the green sea turtles
bread to the moorish idols and yellow tangs
chicken thighs to the young moray
that lived in the tub drain
she closed the faucet slowly
gave them time
she dressed brushed seaweed from her hair
ducked her head through the long strap of her purse
in the spare bedroom where she’d moved him
barnacles obscured his screen
would someone find him
she locked the front door slipped
the key through the jalousies
smoothed the skin
along her neck
no one would notice
"Surface Area"
© Liana Holmberg
First published in
sPARKLE & bLINK, 2.1.
Watch the video of me reading this poem at
Supper Club, San Francisco, for the Quiet Lightning literary series.