PYRITE

In this sea full of fish,
you sparkled golden

on the sandy floor, amid
fraying weed and other dead things.

I have always wanted to be
a sculptor, holding possibility

in my fingers. I rubbed gently,
adding pressure when I felt

your back arch, lips part
to release strained air.

What I really wanted was
to see my reflection in you,

to ground you into
a beautiful uniform,

the way nature makes
planes and vertices.

Now, you twist at my touch, face wet
to dive into the comfort of

I’m not the one, and
This is who I am

but I held even tighter,
my precious, precious metal

with sunlight on your eyelashes
the ocean in your yawn

As you disappeared into shavings
on my studio floor

No part of me would ever admit,
or dare to ask, who was the fool

Terese Mason Pierre is a Canadian writer and editor. Her work has been published in print and online in: The Hart House Review, The Collapsar, Occulum Journal, The Brasilia Review, and others. She is the poetry editor for Augur Magazine and the co-host of Shab-e She’r, Toronto’s most diverse poetry reading series. She lives in Toronto with her family, and works at the public library. Visit her website at www.teresemason.webs.com and connect with her on Instagram and Twitter at @teresempierre.