Classic and Contemporary Poetry: Explained

Aimee Nezhukumatathil’s "Under Water, Behind Glass" is a quiet, meditative exploration of memory, longing, and the tension between possibility and inevitability. Set in the dim, reflective space of an aquarium, the poem follows the speaker as she moves through this enclosed world with a former lover, their shared past pressing against the glass of the present. Using rich imagery and the subtle interplay of human and marine life, Nezhukumatathil creates a layered meditation on relationships, distance, and transformation.

The opening lines establish both setting and mood: "At the National Aquarium in Washington, D.C., / I wander around the basement maze of animals / (under water, behind glass) with the man / who was my first love." The parenthetical phrase—"under water, behind glass"—immediately signals themes of separation and containment. The speaker and her former lover are physically together, yet metaphorically distant, moving through a space that mirrors their own dynamic: intimate but enclosed, familiar yet fundamentally removed from the world above.

The aquarium?s lighting shapes the man’s appearance: "All the green-gray light, / the pink glow of the anemone, the white-tipped spikes / of the lion fish make his skin a color I can’t / even name." The transformation of his skin tone, rendered indescribable by the aquatic hues, suggests the way time and memory alter perception. He is both recognizable and changed, seen through the distortion of years apart and the surreal environment around them. The use of specific colors—"green-gray," "pink," "white-tipped"—contributes to a dreamlike atmosphere, where emotions are submerged beneath light and water.

The next lines affirm the persistence of memory: "It’s been five years but still I know / the brush of his coat behind me, the cup / of his hand as we cross the street, his smell like trees." The passage of time has not eroded the speaker’s tactile knowledge of him. The phrasing—"but still I know"—implies inevitability, as if certain sensations remain imprinted on the body despite emotional or physical distance. The comparison of his scent to trees suggests something grounding, organic, enduring—a contrast to the artificial, enclosed world they now occupy.

Their interactions remain minimal, consisting mostly of "tugs / and nudges"—small, familiar gestures of shared attention. The call to "look at this one!" reflects an attempt to engage with the present moment, yet it is ultimately the setting that speaks for them. The presence of children, "with starfish-shaped lollipops drool[ing] / at the railing," adds a contrast of innocence and wonder, emphasizing how the speaker and her former lover remain restrained, observing rather than participating. The "sea snakes and a lone octopus peeping back" reinforce a sense of watching and being watched, of hidden emotions just beneath the surface. The octopus, "one tentacle / unfurled as if asking for a lick," becomes a playful yet poignant image—suggesting both curiosity and a hesitant reach toward connection.

At the lobster exhibit, the poem pivots toward its emotional core: "Lobsters line up / single file as far as the eye can see and walk / hundreds of feet to find their one mate." The speaker and her former lover read this together, and the shared silence is heavy with implication. "And I know / what he is thinking. It is what I am thinking: / whether all this time and space has been our walk, our journey / to fit again into the last voices we hear at night." This moment of synchronicity suggests that they are both considering reconciliation—wondering if the distance between them was merely a necessary journey leading them back together. The phrase "our journey to fit again" suggests a longing for restoration, for familiarity, for the comfort of a voice in the dark.

But then comes the realization: "But this is too easy." The speaker interrupts the romantic notion with a dose of self-awareness. "Right now, we are too much / in wonder." The phrase acknowledges the seductive power of nostalgia, of being in an enclosed, fantastical space where old emotions can resurface as though untouched by time. The setting has heightened the feeling of inevitability, yet the speaker resists this illusion.

The final image solidifies the poem’s meditation on transformation and irreversible change. The southern flounder becomes a metaphor for their relationship: "one of the southern flounder’s eyes eventually migrates / to the other side of its flat head, till one side holds / both eyes, like a cartoon fish—the other side struck / blind to all of the wild diatoms in full bloom." The flounder, born with symmetrical eyes, undergoes a physical shift that leaves one side completely blind. This suggests that even if they were to reunite, something essential would remain altered, out of balance. One side of the flounder sees the world; the other loses sight of it entirely. The speaker and her former lover may still sense the pull of each other’s presence, but time has shifted them into different versions of themselves. There is no true return.

Nezhukumatathil’s "Under Water, Behind Glass" is a delicate, evocative meditation on memory, separation, and the deceptive allure of nostalgia. The setting of the aquarium serves as a perfect metaphor for the way the past can feel both contained and fluid, both visible and unreachable. The speaker moves through a space of wonder but resists the easy conclusion—understanding that the desire to return to something familiar does not always mean it can, or should, be reclaimed. The poem lingers in that tension, in the quiet recognition that time transforms us, sometimes leaving one side blind to what once bloomed so brightly.

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