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Megan Kim
​Third place

Moon Jelly

It was large as a dinner plate, 
translucent, holding 
purple at its center  
in diamonding sun. Saltwater-glazed
and round like a donut 
or the face of a lover, so full 
and open it resembles a window.
What I’m saying is I saw your face 
everywhere, afterward. 
Even in the jellyfish, 
stranger than outer space, 
beached along the shoreline 
garlanded with kelp. Assuming it dead, 
I tried to flip it over with driftwood 
to view the underside 
but when I got close I saw it—was it 
even possible?—move like a pair of lungs. 
So I guided it gently into the undertow. 
In the water I saw straight through its body 
to the horizon. 
Saw light streaming through its body.

S. Erin Batiste
Megan Kim is a poet from Southern Oregon. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in the AAWW's The Margins, The Rumpus, and Hobart, among others. She is an MFA candidate in creative writing at UW-Madison, and reads for Palette Poetry.
Art: Molly Dunham
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