by Bex Hainsworth

La Specola Zoological Museum, Florence

She hangs like a novelty lampshade
in this bright aquarium, sterile light
crimping into pale waves across

the bristled balloon of her body.
Immortalised surprise, perplexed piñata,
preserved at her roundest; I am her image

reflected across the meniscus of glass.
She is salt-sick, static, yet brackish lips
are pulled into a grin, stretched over

protruding teeth the colour of coral.
Once blinded, she has been gifted glass eyes,
hemispheres the colour of home. Two fins,

fanned like scallop shells, reach for twitching
bulbs. In this glistening tomb, she is surrounded
by other celestial bodies: clownfish, tuna, and tang.

They form a system, orbiting her spiny globe;
in this little tank of moons, she is the star.

Bex Hainsworth is a poet and teacher based in Leicester, UK. She won the Collection HQ Prize as part of the East Riding Festival of Words and her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Nimrod, The McNeese Review, Sonora Review, and trampset. Walrussey, her debut pamphlet of ecopoetry, is published by Black Cat Poetry Press. Twitter @PoetBex / Instagram @poet.bex / Bluesky @poetbex.bsky.social.