ISSUE: Summer 2019
the hive swells outside
as its residents itch to lick our inner walls
for moisture and respite
from January’s cold appendages
nature having thrummed
on its own
blood and grace for millennia
until ours—a short tailored tenure
a blip in comparison to the shark
more ancient than flora
killing only to feed
moving so it will not die
it wants only what the sea has brined
the shark does not know
implication
violence fades to nimbus
depletes blue to red the tides
where pleas parch the lips of tempest
the terror in the land the terror at sea
on the eve of our industrial revolution
made weapon of hungry thing
I’ve heard this slave
song before
boats from across the ocean escorting
these mature predators in swarms
mouths that hungered about
the taste of slaves
men and the sharks parting at shore
shaking with a taste for each other
turning the word with every tide
the currents lap at my latent limb
every volta America wrote
for me had teeth
won’t you allow me now
to lift my lip and show you mine
