On this island, all the tortoises are priests
of an exclusive past. What other living thing
survives on prickly pear and guava? The pure
sting of citrus delivers perfume in a halo
of blossoms.
My carpentry here is rough
and leaves me dreaming of Spanish arches.
If there's anything a coast imparts, it's patience
with imperfect lines.
Today's specimen: Eel dark
reddish purplish brown with pale or whitish
brown spots.
I know I'm still alive because I love
to eat. On the table's a gift
from fishermen: pink gills embroidered
blood, the eyes--two mirrors snapped over
with iron. This shark that I will cut and soak
in lime has a mouth made for eating darkness--
an architecture built without a need for dawn.
--Katherine Larson
No comments:
Post a Comment