after Arshile Gorky
But first they must take everything else. Tadpoles. Sewers. Metal detectors
hunt the hymns I’ve buried deep in the palmar creases. You can’t take
the waves but leave the holes we’ve dug to trap
water from returning to its one true body. Shucking the contract crab
was binding—he goes too now with deformed pincer claws—no take-backsies.
I wish for all my children to be adopted by tides,
but I will keep their memories safe in the castles they built as tadpoles.
Will they swim in the city sewers or will they scratch their dorsals
till bone walks flat against sidewalk?
I’ve traded care for coral so I maintain a small piece of prized pie, a sour grape
from the bunch drip fed into the mouths of takers. Roll up the sand carpet
and reveal the metal floors rusted and embedded
with tallies of the times we’ve begun again. They may take this island but they
must take the next too. And then the next. And the next. And the children too.
Artwork courtesy of Youssef ElNahas
