Kirsty Singer
Bathymetry
worry is something that happens in the mouth
or with the fingers
it is a physiological function
balancing between brain and thumb
a smooth stone skipping
when I missed her I thought of her lip twisted
the fur of it hovering
drawing ripples across the lakeskin
I sat in the window seat
and drank the winter spice tea blend
now lost to me I guess
market research took that sadness away
I guess she was at home in the tropics
I thought of her that way
I wanted to stay on the ski lift
and listen to the whale song
and the other songs over and over
she was home in the lodge
on the white bed recovering
we drove to the emergency room
I held her hand the whole time
it relaxed and stiffened
that is how I knew what it was
when it happened again
I had been reading her a story
from Little Birds
there may have been birds in the story
or just one large exotic parrot
she said slept with her in Nicaragua
there were girls on the bed
and a father his body
made a tent with the sheet
I think it was a white sheet
I stopped reading
that night clenched
her whole body
strength I pried
the terrible smile
but her mouth would not open
another room
his wolf presence lurching
there were nights
my whole body shook
behind her
the thick white down comforter
there were too many covers
and the silence
was too heavy
it submerged her
she was vacuuming
another room
how can nothing
make such a loud sound?
when I touched her
it was not a human face
the horror
that everything is framed
the way they are all muddled
and now you are a part of them
*
now you text me a lake
and there is a lake!
there is a whole lake country
I was in that place
when the turtles came lapping
the very ancient turtles
to the edge of the water
as if magnetism drew them
to my body feet facing the water
it was there that I first became
acquainted with “terrorduck”
you named him years later
I was studying chemistry and botany
I wanted to name things
to understand their structures
I needed to find a new vocabulary
so I went swimming
you were in that lake
you were some kind of monster
my proper home speaks of
is it true? I have been seeking you
for years watching the same classic series
and the discovery channel
now that you are real what are you?
in the movie you are a different man
you return to your great estate too early
and contemplate swimming
you are caught like that
some large beast dripping
without ascot or vest - it is terrible!
the way the shirt just opens
like a bird’s face
there is a tongue in there
it is stony and blue
there is a law of the tongue
an interspecies arrangement
it is unforgiving
impatient you are punished
with a toothache
did I dream this? war of the worlds
No it is called Killers of Eden
“and darkness was upon the face”
you want to be on the side
of the killer whales and crows
what if the all the water dries up?
now the whale’s tongue is a succulent
they make a milk-colored drink from it
they call it pulque we drink it
from little goats and flower pots and cannons
with 400 rabbits
in another version of the legend
a raccoon used its human hands to dig for it
it was the first drunk
it set the course of the rivers
you are sailing on the sound
it is also a body of water
and I think of the hot streak of sun
in your mouth there are crows
moving together oh god
they are spreading apart
Coastal Scrub
you asked for a story about sage
I passed a bundle burning
soft chaparral
the real air setting off
is that the smoke alarm?
or just your ears ringing
maybe it actually happened
that my ears burst
it may be my first real memory
now I listen with eyes
to the torture house of language
“don’t be sad” is all I could manage
to speak into the dumb Real today
but I baked you sea biscuits
now there is a horse in the story
with a jockey named Woolf
he won the race in my hometown
with “a Pavlovian burst of speed”
a symbol of hope for the Great Depression
I don’t think they should name people
things like “Hope” or “Faith”
(in my dream “Faith” had dyed red hair)
better save it for - no, not even horses
I can vote on a longshot named Seabiscuit
and still look at myself in the morning
foraging your body with eyes
touching my face
if I were a raccoon
I’d be a complete narcissist
but a sign in the park wants us
“to pull the wool over a wolf”
what happens when you mate
two worn out metaphors?
is the deception inside
or outside the animal?
Zizek the man is a hedgehog with ticks
does that answer your question?
breaking parts off plants
the scent of them
I made you a fragrant ghillie suit. take it
for when you wake up sweating
in your new house in the desert
and say “this camo I’m wearing isn’t camo enough!
I want to really look like a bush.”
I want to really take you to the beach
in our new photo-
synthetic skins
so we can finally understand
what to do with the sun
there are urchins
at the beach they are eaten
by wolf eels they are named
after hedgehogs
there’s an underwater counterpart to everything
I will build you a raft
put your body on it put the raft in the water
then I will really have a sage story
and I will wave my flat green parts or maybe
I will wade out and discover my density
then I will make you the most beautiful passage about swimming
