By Ally Huang, aged 16

Under the sea doesn’t sound like under

the sea. There is no red lobster singing,

no seaweed dancing, no ukulele

strumming. But do schools of fish

create waves of sound as they bubble

past large contralto sharks? Deep down

do the anglerfish hear the echo of silence

or do their lights harmonize in warmth?

Is the rhythm a 2/2, a 7/8,

or even a ¾ waltz? Regular

or disobeying the ocean’s current and creating a percussion of its own?

 

If you travel to the bottom of the Mariana

Trench, it feels like it’s expanding

and contracting and it feels so

full — really just full      of emptiness.

The distorted ferry horn. The periodic

release of small pockets of air. The gliding

of a whale, as drawn out as the bow

of the double bass playing a single,

solemn G on zero point twenty-five

times speed. Maybe somewhere in a corner

 

of the ocean, Sebastian really is playing

the harp and drumming on clam shells,

singing to a certain little mermaid.

I don’t know what it sounds like under

the sea, but we theory and uncover. United,

a bubbling sparkling melody, smooth staccato

I can’t imagine but I want to find out.

Strings, brass, woodwind. Speak to me

in the tones of music — my ears are blocked.