Moments later, Reshaleh contemplated, ice-still below the pool surface, the pink blush of a rose petal. Thick streams of sunlight penetrated the watery glass, illuminating microscopic filaments that sparkled in undulation of their watery goddess, their mermaid, whose olive skin glistened like fresh maple and whose black curls glinted plump-purple in the syrupy afternoon light. When the petal's papery thin edges gave into a sudden pucker, Reshaleh painfully regarded another creature's presence--a wriggle approached her from the pool's misty, moss-swirled depths, flattening flowering adolescent curiosity with its smooth, green body: a tadpole. Reshaleh tilted her head to better observe the strange animal as it thrust forward in a jagged line while her glossy curls hissed like snakes, escaping to the silver, sun-streamed surface.

I wasn't allowed to do this

(shh)

That Summer by the Sea

It's summertime and the white tips of sailboats are visible from where we sit on the balcony. The sea-smell lingers just beneath my nostrils and there's you, tall and lean like cypress trees, stretching your limbs. I squint in the shining white of the hot summer sun. Your hand leaps across the table and lands on mine, it feels cold and clean. A rich breeze blows, fattening the curtains so that their middles stick out like the bellies of the great old men I see on the streets, supported by their canes and their thin, wispy wives. The curtains are puffing up their cheeks with the wind and I feel dizzy.