In the Upside Down

By Sheila Squillante

—for Barb


Under the water--
deeper than that,
I climb down
to her
my lost friend,
my corrective lens.
She floats as she
The body, I know,
can do both.
She swirls like spite
inside me, a sifting
in our sunset lungs.
If I look up I will
find her, flat
as a ransom note
staked to the ground.

Sheila Squillante writes poems and essays, teaches at Chatham University, and edits The Fourth River and the Barrelhouse Blog. She lives in Pittsburgh with her kids, her husband, two ancient cats, a v. cool lizard, a fish they keep forgetting to feed, and, soon, two rats for a 10-year-old's birthday. You have to get two. They're social animals.