My sisterís vagina
In the shallow end
Of our swimming pool.
The waterís not cloudy.
I can see everything
Push out between the Ďví
Of Dad's fingers:
Beak of clitoris unhooded
At the apex of yawning pink
Set in rubbery outer lips.
Dadís on the second step, my sister on his lap.
Iím wearing my new diving mask.
His other hand
Spreads out like a starfish on my head.
My sister's legs
Outside my father's legs,
The strip of turquoise and white swimsuit
Bunched and pulled aside
Grooves her skin where hip meets thigh.
Iíve got a snorkel
That came with the mask,
But I forget to breathe.
I kick and try to swim away,
But Dad clamps down on the back of my neck.
Iím counting hairs on his middle finger
When a speck of air
Clinging to one crinkly inner lip detaches
And zigzags to the surface.
Are squarish, long, and thick.
Iím wondering why he doesnít cut them,
His fingers donít look orange,
Like heís been eating cheese puffs from a can,
When he begins to stroke.
Iím worried his fingernail will tear
My sister's delicate-looking skin.
The tip of his finger inside,
My sisterís feet
Arch on the bottom step
As she rotates her hips.
I canít tell if his finger making circles
Makes her hips
Move in circles, or vice versa.
His finger slips
Almost out, back in.
Hard and biting down
Hard on the molded rubber projections
Of the snorkelís mouthpiece.
I taste blood where the flange scrapes my gums.