Deceivingly Bandung-like,
the image alone forces my throat
to beg for quenched thirst,
but my tongue would revolt,
punishing me
for blindly drinking salt
that, because of the sun,
divorced its liquid partner.

In its abusive state,
it found allies,
many tiny single cells
lapping its acridity,
finding cuisine
in the repulsion of others,
for there’s plenty to share
filling the void left
in briny territory.

The water’s great
and the sun even greater,
they burn up in the space they claimed;
the pink is not their sun-kissed skin,
but their shade,
a screen of carotenoids,
the front line against the UV
that, ironically, provided the buffet.

Note: This poem was inspired by an article from the New York Times about the occurrences of Pink lakes that occur in Australia and around the world.

Creative Commons License
The Pink Lake by Cheyenne Alexandria Phillips is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.


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