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| Heidi Lynn Staples [Ahsahta] |
i
went to see her, arriving self-satisfied as the one
i
went to see her, arriving self-satisfied as the one
who
settled his family here sometime in the 1830’s
I
didn’t understand, for me life had been a sleepy little fishing
village
though
the east pass was bridged. i didn’t yet know that in her
body
formed the future and the future requires fire
for
release of its seeds,
that
she was leaving that future is patented and listed as real-estate
like
lake flooding during hurricanes in the late 1920’s
the
blood leaving her face; disrupting the flow of water into
the
Everglades.
i
brought her cookies, asked how are you feeling?
when
she didn’t answer, when she looked out the window,
I
said, let’s make this hospital bed look like a beach towel.
instead
she lay there, wrapped in white
fish
fresh from the wholesale market.
. . .
she lay there quiet as the
“Miracle Strip”
she lay there quiet as the “Miracle
Strip”
in off-season, veins crammed with
classic boardwalk
entertainment
and junk satisfaction. skin gone
neon
and i held her hand, that
artificial reef,
i asked the nurse to bring her a
room
full of ocean front young wed couples
swaddling wet sand sunburnt
toddlers
shaking out beach towels sand
ineffable sand unnamable cause
luck of the draw determines what
you get.
I hadn’t come to talk of
bottle-nosed
dolphins, sea lions, and otters
celebrate and mourn our failure to
connect.
Yet, I had been the number one
people pleaser
since the house opened. Between
us were waterfalls, reflecting
ponds, footbridges,
and all I could say was Gulf World.
like abundant billfish, sand,
foam,
like abundant billfish, sand, foam,
she was always so seemed
indestructible.
yeah, i can hardly bear to look
at her.
the doctor comes in breezy as
recreation
she’s scared, her eyes white
sands and blue green
waters that became check-in
information
she is alive. that’s worth
something, her body
so slight, so empty motel and
amusement
parks with oceanic motif
so much translated into
fishing sport
her hand grown cold as a walk from
coast
into condo
look the effects of the medication
have worn off. she’s talking.
what she’s saying
. . .
i have seen the false breast &
it’s full as a parasail
i have seen the false breast &
it’s full as a parasail
only the remaining breast lonely
manatee.
once huge creature, fondled
for its meat. abundance
extinguished bit by bit as if
the victim of large-scale illegal
poaching, cysts
instead of tree snails or epiphytic
orchids from the hardwood
that’s why she’s gone
unconscious, septic. why do
innumerable subterranean caverns
fill with waste,
x-rays look like population grown
and unabated tourism
that’s the way it is is — her
eyes open
magnolias, live oaks, and loblolly
pines
it doesn’t seem enough to say to
the surgeon,
please don’t walk on the dunes.
it has taken me years to realize
the pain
of just like family.
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