by Arturo Ruiz
I cannot remember the way
you taught me to tie a fishing line,
a dependable knot.
Though my body is mine,
these hands are your hands
pierced & weeping.
I stand at the end of a rock wall,
cast a line to sea
as the horizon disappears, a sky exploding.
Disappointment. An overflowing ocean.
Boats run aground past our stilted house,
& children pushing stranded seals back to sea.
The wind that whistles
sand into patterns,
spelling out the names of the dead.
I'll paddle out a half a mile
to the outer reef, fast & hard—
believing it to be the way to you.
I'll enter the belly of a fish.
Inside it I'll forget dry land & your face.
Inside it I'll wait three years for the sun
to rise at the horizon of its tongue.