‘Jellyfish Don’t Swim, They Move With the Current’ by Ellen Elder

The bay is surprisingly shallow. Its average depth, including all tidal tributaries, is about 21 feet. A person who is 6 feet tall could wade through more than 700,000 acres of the Bay and never get his or her hair wet.

– Chesapeake Bay Program Facts & Figures

There were so many sea
nettles and moon jellies –
billowy flights of fancy
floating off the sides
of the catamaran –
that she taught me
to ignore them
by muscling away.
If you get stung
stay in the water

It was hot that July,
Atlantic-humid.
The bay slick with motor-
boats and geometric sails.
The pilot might have had an assistant.
Or Russ co-opted a private
plane so he could scatter
his wife with his bare hands
over the Medusa shallows.

I wonder about the details,
but it no longer seems to matter,
like who decided to put lung
not breast
on the death certificate.

It was otherwise an ordinary
day a little over a month
after O.J. Simpson led 265
helicopters on a high-speed chase
over California highway.
Propped in bed, eyes shut,
she laughed that it was
too bad she’d miss the trial,
predicting his acquittal.
Men get away with things.
She wagged a disposable glove at us.

From issue #5: autumn/winter 2017

About the Author
Ellen Elder holds degrees from the University of Chicago, Miami University of Ohio and the University of Wisconsin-Milwaukee. Her poetry appears in DMQ Review, Exquisite Corpse, Leveler, Painted Bride Quarterly, Tampa Review and elsewhere. Born in NYC, she was raised in Cincinnati and spent childhood summers in Ireland. She lives in Germany.