This Naked Courier
In Trafalgar, I pluck the stars
out the sky, put them in glass
bottles and give them to you.
I say the light of the universe
is in your hands, you look up;
Not even the night sky notices.
In San Bernardo, I watch
a fisherman flay and filet the
day’s freshest catch under
a canopy made for one. I catch
my reflection in fleeting scales
as they fall to the sandy floor.
In its stripping, you make eye
contact with this naked courier—
its eyes are a glossy black,
the kind of black we all
return to. It mouths the words
‘thank you.’
In the Dead Sea, my skin burns.
I am not welcome. No one is.
Salt seeps into cuts we don’t think
to cover. It burns but the water asks us
to stay a while and we do. We compare
ancestry; I ask if you ever get lonely,
you tell me you’re a nihilist now.
Seth Canner
Seth Canner attends the University of
Greenwich, in London, where he is pursuing an honor's degree in English
Literature and Creative Writing. He is also co-editor of Lit.cat, an online
literary publication.
Tags:
Poetry