after Stefanie Kirby
I wear a bespoke suit to the wedding. In the breast pocket is
the ocean where my mother learned to swim. I comb my
hair; she swims laps between seams. I knot my tie; she
holds her breath and dives. I drop the ring into my pocket
for safekeeping and she turns somersaults through it, a
solitary synchronized swimmer. I do not take her to the
altar. I loosen the thread and let the water out. An umbilical
spill of silver pools on the linoleum. My mother bobs in the
puddle between my shoes, shielding her eyes from the glare
glinting off glossed leather. The officiant’s voice crackles
like cellophane. My intended shimmers like sunlight on the
surface of the reservoir. At the reception we twine our arms
together like kelp strands to feed each other scallops and
dew. My mother claps from her place of honor, floating in
a champagne glass filled with meltwater
Something Blue by Frances Klein | Garden Lavender Reed Diffuser
- Frances Klein (she/her) is an Alaskan poet and teacher. Klein is the author of the poetry collection Another Life (Riot in Your Throat 2025) and the chapbook (Text) Messages from The Angel Gabriel (Gnashing Teeth Press, 2024). She is a founding editor of Flight: A Literary Sampler. Klein’s writing has appeared in Best Microfictions, The London Magazine, Rattle, The Harvard Advocate, HAD, and others.
