I sunlight over water,
wink like herring-back,

mesh like kelp, and jellyfish
with each sigh of tide.

Algae sheens me; seek its scent
on bottletops and lighters – Open wide…

Ease me into the trusting gulp
of your young. Watch one fail

to sick balloon-string from his throat
and feed him further. Watch

not understanding why, dot-to-dot
they clog to a stop.

I slick from the stomach
crumple of whale, a foetal

scrag of albatross: artificial red
blue green of polythene.

Twist in that line, that bag, that net.
Feel my six-pack grip around your neck.

You cannot stop my skin-shed,
cannot see me plague the chain

and chemical the flesh. You cannot see
you pour me daily from your taps and drink.

Drink me. Eat me. Breathe me and soon
you’ll see.

Eleanor Page is a poet and artist from North Essex. She graduated in 2018 with a BA in English Literature and Creative Writing from the University of Warwick.