Light blue and navy striped bikini girl


in the dark: light grey,
ashen-white flamingo leg
triangles against the gate
in front of the pool. She pulls up
the other onto the thin rail,
swaying like a small sea,
the wave of the water
below her: her beat.
I find her beat
on my restless leg, firm
on the stool beneath me.
Her hips: back and forth, dead front of me,
she laughs her victory, half scoop
of lemon sherbert moon
beyond her arching shoulder. Comments come
from the water, egging her on
while I beat. She lunges herself,
splashes, and in a beat,
she is gone. From the dusk:
a sudden flash of coral salmon,
her face: incandescent.
The stubble-faced Frenchman
to my left oozes sex. 

Rhiannon.ThorneRhiannon Thorne grew up in Santa Rosa, CA, but currently lives in Phoenix, AZ. She has been published recently inThird Wednesday and The Rampallian, and has work upcoming in The Foundling Review and Midwest Quarterly,among others. Rhiannon is also co-editor of the online publication cahoodaloodaling with fellow poet-in-arms Kate Hammerich. Find her at




Rhiannon Thorne