The Undersea World of Jacques Cousteau

The Undersea World of Jacques Cousteau

While my mother chokes on a fishbone,
I am shuffled into another room

to watch The Undersea World of Jacques Cousteau.
Bubbles rush upwards from

a diver’s mouthpiece
as my mother coughs up blood.

Beyond the window,
snowflakes rim the leafless trees.

The deep teems with presences.
My mother’s face takes on

a distressing error in form. The ocean
generates a sad music all of its own.

Ambulance lights dye the snow blue.
A siren bends the air to zero.

Chris Greenhalgh