Becoming an Artist

Floating — Cambridge. Photo by the author

It was about transparent skin — translucent

Like a stretched, pink bubble of gum blown in the depths of the ocean,

A clear rose wrap enclosing vital organs –

The heart, rust red — the lungs, huge and grey cast –

The spleen and stomach churning away,

Visible to anyone watching.

It was about intestines, moving independently.

Until one pushed through the gelatinous membrane of social norm

And as it slid out, the others followed, morphing into tender tendrils

Groping…

It became clear then, that she had become an artist –

Pink, pulsing — grotesque in her lack of shame –

Innards hanging out

Passive in the ebb and flow of the tide.