Case Study on Rusalka

 

 

It began with an opening, like a valley, a possibility of endless data. The water

 

carrying her on green wings, a fraction of bayou where the water runs bright,

 

the water catching the land vis-à-vis roots of mangroves and precise blossoms.

 

As though beauty were a thing to advertise, to binge, maybe to live inside.

 

Like a shocked house on stilts where she finds dead swallows under the floorboards,

 

such soft martyrs, pill-bottle small, shut eyes as though death is a bed made

 

of supernal silk, their bellies swelled with a trend of dry air–punctuated mesas

 

and cleanly pine. As she leaves, she carries a portmanteau of waterlilies, bottle-cap

 

jewels to trade for a bed, some taffy. Then the purge, the felt fall, the fairytale coming to an end.