poems by Rena J. Mosteirin

Blog Archive

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Wrecker

She hates people from India.
Why?
Because they don't kill animals.

Here there is no ocean
to reflect the sun back in scattered
handfuls over flowers and trees.
With time, all parts of the shipwreck become sand.

Shook out like chicken feed, that sunlight was.
Coastal light ducks
under the waves and sucks
ancient salt-preserved meats from shipwrecked bones.
All wrecks end in the suck.

Splash shapes cut the air and are filled with wings.
Whales taught me how to swim
(all wrecks end something)
whales taught me how
(all wrecks end)
in my dreams with the happiness that only animals can have.

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