Tuesday, August 25, 2015
Too many times, I have watched
flesh turn. Familiar things:
a daughter cracking mussels
against the pier, mollusks alive
and smacking. Yellow meat
crushed against bedrock.
A shade of white so slight, it is what
I imagine it's like to be open, inviting.
Someday, there will be no
such thing as boneless. At night
even salt glows with the light
of a body underwater.
This poem appeared in Devil's Lake which is published twice annually at the University of Wisconsin-Madison